


The Noose

by JaRR77



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaRR77/pseuds/JaRR77
Summary: You ran from your half-twin two years ago, seeking shelter at Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. What happens when he suddenly appears at The Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men?
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Reader, Michael Langdon/You
Comments: 78
Kudos: 288





	1. Chapter One

“Many believe Descensum is performed lying down to bring oneself closer to the hell into which they descend.” Myrtle Snow circled around the long table at which you and your peers were gathered, white walls illuminated by the bright light of the sheet-white sky pouring in through long windows. “This is false. The witch must remain conscious of her surroundings, her physical senses. That is why it is preferable to lie down when performing the act; to use the floor as a full-body anchor.”

Your palms were beginning to sweat. Today, the class was to finish discussing the history and practice of Descensum, so as to attempt it tomorrow. The most dangerous of the Seven Wonders, many experienced witches had died while performing it. It was explained to you, during the class’s first session, that these tragedies were the reason why they were including this course into the general requirements of Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies.

Your redheaded teacher glanced to the mantel clock at the far end of the room, her expensive cat-eye glasses allowing her to read its small face with absolute clarity. “Class dismissed for today, girls. Be sure to rest in preparation for tomorrow.”

You walked over to your instructor as your fellow students headed out into the hallway. You swallowed fervently, mouth beginning to run dry of saliva in anticipation - you were far from excited to ask for such a large favor. 

“Myrtle,” you addressed her, as everyone at the Academy was to be referred to by their first name as a display of sisterhood, “I was wondering if… if I could skip the test tomorrow.”

She looked at you in slight confusion before a reassuring expression appeared, warming her features. “My dear girl, you won’t be in any real danger - you won’t be entering true hell.”

__“I know.” You said a bit too quickly. You wanted to be granted a pardon from the test as soon as possible. Though, even if she insisted you participate, you would ignore her. There was no way you were going down there. While she was correct in saying that you would not descend into actual hell - an individual nightmare suited to fit your exact fears and anxieties - you would be descending to its entrance, or rather, _entrances.___

____Those who’d taken the class before you had described the destination. A narrow and endless corridor, lit only by a dim, hazy light which reflected off of the polished black walls. The only visible escape was the similarly dark doors which lined the hallway, which they’d assumed led to the personal hells of every tainted soul who had once lived on this earth._ _ _ _

____Myrtle raised her eyebrows and moved her neck forward, encouraging you to explain yourself. You took a deep breath before doing so, trying to put your anxiety into words. “I just - I don’t like the idea of Descensum, at least not right now. Maybe if I work on my powers a little more, I’ll be confident enough to try it. I just can’t do it right now. Even if I tried-”_ _ _ _

____She cut you off, nodding as she casually raised her designer-gloved hand. “I will speak with Cordelia.” She paused, examining your uncertainty. “Don’t look so pale child. I will not force you to take the test - I simply meant that I will let our Supreme know of your doubts.”_ _ _ _

____You let out the breath you had been withholding. Had you not been so distracted by your relief, you would’ve been embarrassed by how audible it was. “Thank you, Myrtle. Thank you.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course.” Nodding again, she passed you to make her way into the dining room, where most all residents of Robichaux’s Academy informally gathered, however briefly, after a day’s work._ _ _ _

____You sidled up to your friend Coco to inform her of your good news. “All clear.” You couldn’t help an absurdly large smile from stretching across your face._ _ _ _

____She returned your enthusiasm. “Guess what? I’m not just a gluten detector anymore. I can count calories.”_ _ _ _

____“Everyone can count calories.” You teased. “Don’t tell anyone, or it’ll be Beverly Hills all over again.”_ _ _ _

____Widening her eyes, Coco feigned anxiety. “Are you kidding me? This is bad enough as it is - how will I ever eat a Sno Ball again? How will I ever eat _anything _that’s not a salad again?”___ _ _ _

______The blonde went off on a tangent about converting to veganism, barely considering it before resigning herself to the fact that she would just have to resist using her power before eating._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Girls,” You heard your Supreme’s gentle yet commanding voice spread throughout the room. You turned to observe her positioning herself in the center of the large and elegant room, her trusted advisors Myrtle and Zoe standing by her side. Voices continued to fade as she repeated her call once more._ _ _ _ _ _

______Cordelia Goode surveyed the many faces held at attention with a calm, professional smile. “I’ve got some… news to share.” It seemed she could not decide whether it leaned in the direction of good, or of bad. “The warlocks have summoned us for a Council meeting. Myself and the Council will depart tomorrow morning, so enjoy your day off classes.” It seemed your fearful ramblings about Descensum could have waited._ _ _ _ _ _

______Cordelia set her arm out to the side, gesturing for the chief of staff to move closer. “Miriam will make sure that everything runs smoothly while we’re gone - this is not an excuse to abandon school policies.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She smiled again, giving a single nod before ending her address. “I’ll see you all at dinner.” And with that, she was gone._ _ _ _ _ _

______You and Coco returned your attentions to each other. She rolled her eyes and played with the ends of her hair. “Sucks for them - those guys are such assholes.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______You had never actually met a warlock. Apparently, not long before your arrival, the lot of them had come out here to spend a week visiting the numerous magical hotspots of New Orleans, staying under the same roof as your fellow witches._ _ _ _ _ _

______They left after three days. Whether they were driven away or stormed out themselves, you weren’t sure. You only knew that the contempt between the two Covens was already longstanding by the time that mess of a visit occurred._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What’s wrong with them?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“They’re just jealous because they’re not as powerful as we are. They’re total incels.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______You shrugged, beginning to play with your hair. “Well, I’d love to see them battle it out tomorrow - it’s not like I have any plans.” You shot Coco a pointed look, knowing that she was leaving town tomorrow as well, going to Los Angeles to visit her family._ _ _ _ _ _

______She scoffed, saying, “Well why don’t you go with them? See if there are any warlocks who aren't huge dicks.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah right. I’ll just go ask them to buy me a plane ticket.”_ _ _ _ _ _

___________ _ _ _ _ _

______After dinner, you’d retreated into your small bedroom, seeking a moment of rest after your anxiety-ridden day._ _ _ _ _ _

______You pushed your laptop aside when you heard two measured knocks on the door, inviting in the unexpected visitor. Your Supreme entered, cheerful from the passionate dinner conversations she always enjoyed with her former mentor Myrtle, whom she had known for decades._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hello (Y/N). How are you?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The confusion you tried to conceal through a calm expression was given away by the speed of your response. “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m fine, as fine as I can be.” She gave a breath of a laugh. “To be honest, I’m not exactly looking forward to tomorrow. I’m sure you’re aware of the conflict between us witches and the warlocks.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______You pressed your lips together and shrugged, signifying a lack of knowledge. “I mean, I know there’s some… bad blood, but I’m not really sure why - Coco said they weren’t as powerful as us.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Your Supreme nodded, giving a knowing smile, as if that were some sort of inside joke. “That is typically the case; testosterone is known to inhibit magical ability.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______You smiled back, not knowing what else to say; frankly, not knowing why the two of you were having this conversation. Was she nervous about the trip, as well as irritated? If so, why would she be talking to you? Perhaps she was simply trying to educate you, knowing that you’d never come into contact with the opposing Coven - though that seemed like a rather pointless endeavor._ _ _ _ _ _

______She placed a hand over yours, and you were already embarrassed by the intimate conversation to come._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Myrtle tells me that you’ve been worried about your Descensum test, and that you’ve been struggling to progress with your own gift.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______You broke eye contact, simply staring down at your duvet for a beat before she gave your hand a small squeeze, saying, “This Coven has been around for many years. We’ve seen witches with the powers of all Seven Wonders, witches with a few notable powers, and witches with only one.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______As she spoke, you raised your eyes, trying to respectfully acknowledge the importance of whatever point she was beginning to make. Cordelia continued. “The power of each individual witch is not as important as it may seem. What’s important is the structure of our Coven - the _unity. We need you all in, (Y/N). No one expects you to be perfect, but we want you to remain focused.”___ _ _ _ _

________You nodded, keeping your face blank as the blush of your cheeks gave away your embarrassment. “I understand - I’m sorry.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Don’t be.” she stood, and you were relieved that this interaction seemed to be coming to an end. “I think this Council meeting presents an opportunity for you to reimmerse yourself in the principals of this school - of remaining strong, even in the face of… challenges.” She breathed out the last word in mild exasperation, clearly displeased by the thought of interacting with the warlocks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________You widened your eyes in question, unsure of whether or not you understood what she was saying. “So you want me to… to go with you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“If you don’t have any objections.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No, of course not.” You paused for a moment, not having expected such a proposal. “We won’t be staying overnight, right? I don’t have to pack?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Supreme shook her head. “No, we’ll be back just after dinner.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________You gave a small smile. “Ok… see you tomorrow, then.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She nodded, wishing you goodnight before she made her way toward the door. You were somewhat excited - at least now you had plans._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Approaching The Hawthorne School, you added two more strokes to the list of reasons for the hostility between the two Covens._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Firstly, the warlocks were housed out in the middle of nowhere - you had been in the car for thirty minutes, passing no more than desert trees and the occasional trailer, growing fewer and further between as your drive progressed. Secondly, you’d been told that their entire school was subterranean, the original building having been burned down by conservative locals due to Cordelia’s press tour in 2014, which had exposed the warlocks without their consent._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________You all stepped out into the bright sun, the black clothes you were all instructed to wear absorbing the midday heat. Nearing the entrance - a towering black statue which spiraled into itself - you grew increasingly sure that the warlocks’ resentment would be directed towards each and every one of you, despite you being but a nameless face to them; you were still a witch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________As you stepped into the grand hall, you surveyed the light, sanded-wood flooring, darkened by the dim, warm lighting. A polygon of black paint encircled the elegant fire pit in the middle of the room. The place smelled like a mixture of both cheap and expensive colognes, as well as cigarette smoke - a concerning scent in this fire hazard of a school._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The Council, along with you and two other _distracted _students they’d brought along, sat across from the chief warlocks at a long black table in a section of their library. The men looked at you non-Council members quizzically, then to the Supreme for an explanation as to why you three were there. She didn’t give them one.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The tension was certainly palpable. There were no recent conflicts to cite, as far as you were aware - only a lingering distaste which the authoritative figures of each school had to veil, if thinly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________After all of the official introductions and reintroductions took place, Cordelia began the meeting quickly and professionally. “Let the record show that at the request of The Hawthorne School, we have assembled an emergency meeting of the Council.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“In order to address what surely must be a matter of grave and pressing importance.” Myrtle added with unamused sarcasm._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Ariel Augustus, the warlock’s Grand Chancellor, remained standing as he proudly commenced his announcement. “Illustrious members-” His eyes flitted over to you three untouchables once more before he cleared his throat. “-Everyone, I want to thank you for coming, and for giving us the opportunity to share with you what we’ve discovered. We recently took in a boy here at the school. At first, we thought he was simply one of us, a warlock who needed our help and training-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“-But?” Zoe interrupted._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________You were not the only student at the table to be taken aback by the blonde’s attitude. She was usually so polite, to an almost tedious extent, and now she was cutting a man off in the middle of his formal address for no real reason._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The silence that befell the room lasted only a second as Ariel smiled through the interruption. “The things he did were extraordinary, and after conducting the requisite test of his powers, we came to the conclusion that his abilities are so impressive,” He scanned over the lot of you before focusing solely on Cordelia, a smug look in his eye, “That they rise to the level of Supreme.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Silence again, now a bit heavier. It took a few breathless moments for the chief witches to begin chuckling, their fleeting discomfort all but passed. For you students, however, the feeling remained - though perhaps more out of confusion than apprehension. You had never heard of a male Supreme._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Myrtle spoke first, sardonic as always. “Did you say this was a boy - as in, male?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The warlocks were growing irritated, as well as tired. It almost seemed like those besides Ariel would be willing to sacrifice their protégé’s advancement if it meant you witches would immediately vacate the premises._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Cordelia was in amused disbelief. “Ariel, in all recorded history, no man has ever reached the level of Supreme. Men are simply not equal to women when it comes to magical ability.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Not to mention everything else.” Myrtle interjected._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________They went on to bicker over beliefs and attitudes, fact and fiction, and at one point the Grand Chancellor even called the Supreme a bigot. There was yet another tense silence before Cordelia demanded, “What exactly do you want from us?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Ariel regained his composure and spoke in a calm, measured tone. “We want you to administer the test of the Seven Wonders.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Cordelia brushed him off, unimpressed by his conduct. “That is out of the question - I will not condemn this boy to death. I lost one of my most promising witches, Misty Day, by sanctioning a test before her time - I won’t make that mistake again. I take care of my own.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________You retreated into your mind, palms sweating once again as you recalled the tale of a girl lost to Descensum only a handful of years before your arrival at the Academy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Ariel quickly jumped to question Cordelia’s integrity. “At least, the ones you care about.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Your brows furrowed in vexed confusion at the small, jealous man. Cordelia addressed him with an appropriate anger. “What do you mean by that?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Ariel’s voice was now thinly coated with scorn. “One of your own, who you abandoned - Queenie.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Cordelia shot him a look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Queenie was missing; she traveled to Los Angeles, and never came back. I knew something awful had happened to her - her life force just… vanished. So I went searching for her, and I found her at The Hotel Cortez.” She paused for a moment as her voice began to waver. “The Cortez was a place of evil; a Hellmouth.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Your eyes bulged as your lips grew stiff and small. A Hellmouth… like the one you were born in. You were certainly aware of the many souls that damned house had trapped within its walls._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Cordelia continued explaining the situation to the warlocks, though at this point you felt she didn’t owe them another word. “We tried leaving through every door, every window, but we couldn’t escape the hotel. I’m still not sure why.” Her eyes glistened with a light sheen of tears as she strained her voice to keep it from faltering. “But I did _not _leave her behind, because I care about _all _of our people. So as I said, I will not throw this boy’s life away on some useless endeavor. There will be no test; That is this Council’s decision.”_____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The warlocks grew enraged. Ariel spoke up. “You’re just scared - scared of the Alpha; of a man rising to the level of Supreme - of an end to ages of female dominance.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________You did not like the way he’d phrased that. It seemed your companions didn’t either._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Cordelia had been pushed past the bounds of strained civility, eyes growing fierce. “Your time is up. I have made my decision - and I’m your fucking Supreme.” You held back an impressed smile at your usually composed leader baring her teeth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________As you walked out, positioned just behind Myrtle, you were met with the disapproving glares of not only the warlock Council members, but the students as well. You figured they were no more to blame for the awkward relationship than the students at Robichaux’s - though the sheer childishness of some of their expressions led you to think back to Coco’s comment regarding their incel status._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________You had just made you way out of black structure when you saw that Cordelia had stopped walking, stunned by the sight of three mysterious figures approaching in a triangular formation, also clad in black. You stared, their faces still obscured to you, and considered what could possibly be going on. Did Cordelia know these people? Were they a threat to the Coven?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Your stomach seemed to cave in on itself as the figures in question came into focus. You did not know two out of the three, nor did you know their motivations. You did recognize one of them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________You recognized him all too well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Your brother stood at the head of the clan. Your brother - specifically, your half-twin - who you had not seen in years. Instead of the frumpy clothes he’d always dressed himself in, he wore an expensive cape. Instead of letting his blond curls crown his head in a messy mop-top, he had styled them into an elegant frame. Instead of an unsure, naive smile, his face portrayed a barely-concealed smirk, exuding smug superiority._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Michael Langdon stared only at Cordelia, even as he drew closer. Did he see you, recognize you? He must have - your entourage was not all that large, and you had recognized him, though he resembled a stranger._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The Supreme collapsed onto the dry dirt, and you knelt down with much less urgency than the rest of the witches, limbs shaky and hot, not taking a moment to look away from your twin’s visage._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Those at the front of your formation began to haul Cordelia’s unconscious body upwards, and you walked backwards to give way, Michael’s face leaving your line of sight as you disappeared into the black stone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________You could not stop replaying the events of the afternoon._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Cordelia had slept, yelling and calling out the names of the dead girls she had spoken of before - though now one of them, Queenie, was very much alive, standing before you all, waiting for her Supreme to wake up._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The other girl who had suddenly appeared was Madison Montgomery, a child star whose films you’d watched when you were young. Apparently she’d also been recently revived. You would’ve been more excited to meet her, had you not been so preoccupied._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________They had told all of you that the young man they arrived with had released their souls from whatever dark realm they’d resided in - doing, in Queenie’s case, what Cordelia could not._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He was clearly the boy wonder the warlocks had spoken of; the young man who they believed could be the first male Supreme in history._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Michael Langdon had been both the joy and the bane of your existence when you were younger. As the two of you grew into adolescence, he began leaning more towards the latter end of the spectrum - frighteningly so, to the point where you felt compelled to abandon your home. Despite loving Michael, you had honestly never planned on seeing him again. But here he was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________You were vaguely aware of the events unfolding in front of you; Cordelia’s return to consciousness, the calming of her nerves, her emotional reunion with her former pupils. Your head eventually snapped up when she said that she wished to see the boy who’d performed this miraculous feat._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________You all ventured into the foyer, where the chief warlocks had gathered in anticipation of this crucial encounter. Your brother was also present, bright blue eyes serious and wary as Cordelia spoke of a vision in which she claimed to have seen the future; “Cataclysm, fire, death, our Academy reduced to cinders. A man, but not a man… a white-faced demon.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Though you possessed the ability to glimpse back into the past, you had no faith in the concept of predicting the future. What’s done is done, whereas the future is always up in the air, decisions of every kind constantly shifting its direction._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Your Supreme announced that Michael would be allowed to take the test of the Seven Wonders, due to her belief that the Covens’ fates seemed to hang in the balance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________No more words were spoken before you finally left Hawthorne._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The entire way back Myrtle was raving about the absurdity of Cordelia’s decision and how the hubris of men could not be allowed to bring the Coven to ruin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as your roommate slept soundly beside you, you had a feeling that Cordelia would be even less impressed by your academic performance after today’s trip - you would definitely be too tired to attend tomorrow’s classes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________You felt a weight on your chest, causing your breathing to shallow - at first you believed it to be a building anxiety, but then the weight spread to your limbs, your head grew leaden as your eyes rolled back into your head, and it felt as though you were sinking into the bed. _Oh God, _you pointlessly begged, _No, no… _______ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________This little magic trick he used to perform when you were younger had been fun at first, annoying later, and now, within this context, terrifying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________You were in the familiar, cramped, pitch-black room, lit only by a small hearth burning in the center. A startled “Jesus Christ!” escaped your lips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________A sardonic voice came from behind you. “Not quite.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________You wished you didn’t have to do this - you would’ve sold your soul then and there if it meant you could transmutate yourself back to the safety of your dorm room. Still, your instincts kicked in, and you spun around to face your brother._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Michael leaned against the wall, dressed not in his elegant cape but in the immaculate Hawthorne School uniform. His expression was once again smug, though now brazenly so._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________You felt exposed for countless reasons. Your slack-jawed expression, your stiff body (clad only in pajamas), the explanations you owed him… you couldn’t speak._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________“So nice to see you again, _Ms. Harmon.” He drew out your name, pushing himself off of the wall when he realized that you were to remain mute. “I'd hoped we’d be able to talk after the good news was announced, but you took off so suddenly.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________You had no idea what to say, so you asked the first vague, near-nonsensical question you could come up with. “Michael… what are you doing?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________He furrowed his brow in false confusion. “Just saying hi to my sister - I mean, how long has it been? Eighteen months? Two years?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Closing your eyes and exhaling, you gathered yourself for the difficult conversation you were being forced into. “Michael… I-I’m sorry. But you have to understand; I was scared-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Michael’s face grew angry as his stern voice cut you off. “You were scared? Huh.” He mockingly pretended to contemplate your response. “One awkward situation, and you run like a coward.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Now it was your turn to be pissed off. “Awkward situation - Are you kidding me?! You killed-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“-What was it you did to survive, anyway, before finding the witches? Pickpocketing? Drug dealing?” He looked at you with his eyebrows raised, awaiting an answer as you gave him nothing more than a reserved glare. An idea seemed to rush into his head, and he clenched and unclenched his jaw before speaking. “Tell me you didn’t sell yourself.” His voice was low and accusatory._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Heat rushed to fill your chest, which had previously felt hollow with fear. “Christ, Michael, No!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________He looked at you warily for a moment before apparently deciding to believe you, seeming quietly relieved. Moving closer, he taunted, “It must be hard for you ladies, knowing you’ll soon have a male Supreme.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________You scoffed nervously, attempting to bite back. “Even if you pass the test, you won’t be Supreme until Cordelia dies - and she’s still in her prime.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________He scoffed as well, though with much more confidence. “Her prime? She collapsed at the sight of me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“She collapsed at the sight of two girls she thought were dead!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“They were dead - until I brought them back.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________You clenched your jaw, not knowing how to respond to that. He was right, he was more powerful than Cordelia - at least in the realm of Vitalum Vitalis. He had done exactly what she stated she was incapable of doing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________You thought back on today, the last time you’d seen him before your escape, all the years leading up to it, and you suddenly snapped, returning to the previous topic of conversation. “You know what, Michael? I’m sorry. But whether you want to admit it or not, I had more than enough reason to leave - and apparently you’ve found other people to babysit you now, so you can just fuck right off."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________His face became even more foreign to you as it was momentarily enraptured with rage, and you stood in anticipation of what was to come next, wide-eyed and tight-lipped._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________He calmed himself before responding, one corner of his lips quirking up in amusement. “I’m afraid I can’t just 'fuck right off.' It’s been decided that I’ll be performing the Seven Wonders at your very own Robichaux’s Academy."_____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________You raised your eyebrows mockingly, trying to conceal the anxiety you felt at the idea of him infiltrating your school, your world, for even one moment - you had worked so hard to separate your life from his. “Okay - even if you pass, you’ll be flying right back to your little hole in the ground.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________“And then you and I can have some more nighttime visits.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Fists clenched by your sides, you yelled, “Just leave me alo-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________________Suddenly, you were back to staring at your bedroom ceiling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael performs the Seven Wonders. The two of you have some time alone.

It had been two weeks since you’d last seen your twin.

With each night of uninterrupted sleep you’d grown fractionally more relaxed, relieved to realize that Michael had no plans to call on you. You knew exactly when the test was to take place, and you'd planned to be elsewhere long before the warlocks arrived, and long after they departed.

Though now, on the day of reckoning, you decided to attend Michael’s performance of the Seven Wonders. You had made this decision out of fear, wondering what fate would befall him during his attempt at Descensum.

Six of you now sat in the corner of the living room, fretting over what this fateful evening would hold in store. Coco’s head bobbed forward in emphasis as she spoke. “This is such fucking bullshit!”

“Is he nice, at least?” While no witch at Robichaux’s was pleased by the matter at hand, sweet Mallory was trying to make the best of it, though you assumed she was just as disappointed as the rest of you; it had previously been speculated that she was the heir to the Supremacy.

Zoe shrugged, hands clasped firmly above her stiffly crossed legs. “We didn’t really have time to talk.”

Coco spoke again, clearly the most panicked of the group - if not the entire school. “It doesn’t matter if he’s nice or not. Myrtle’s right. A male Supreme will run us into the dirt.”

Queenie let out a somewhat defeated exhale, trying to find a silver lining to the boy whose robotic mannerisms she found particularly unnerving. “At least he’s kinda hot.”

Giving a tight and sarcastic smile, Madison joined the conversation in a brisk, dismissive tone. “Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m pretty sure he plays for the other team.”

You held back a bitter scoff, knowing full well that your brother was not gay.

Queenie rolled her eyes. “Girl, don’t be pissed he didn’t want you.” Her eyes lit up as if she’d come to a great realization. “Hey, maybe that Grand Chancellor dude’ll let you blow him.”

The blonde leaned forward and gave her opponent a threatening look, her mocking grin indicating a fondness for bickering. “Or you could blow me, bitch.”

Coco raised her shrill voice, disrupting their exchange and demanding as much attention as possible, desperate to get her point across. “You guys are missing the point! If a warlock is put in charge of this Coven, no witch will ever be the Supreme again!”

Mallory tried to calm her, laying a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “Well, he still has to pass the test.”

Zoe’s brows furrowed in confusion, her hair brushing over Mallory’s shoulder as she flung her head to the side, addressing the honey blonde. “My question is, if Michael’s being allowed to take the test, why aren’t you?”

Mallory answered. “Myrtle talked to Cordelia about it - she said if Michael failed, then I’d be asked to perform.”

Zoe crossed her arms and leaned back, satisfied by her answer. “Honestly, I’m not worried. He has power, that’s undeniable, but he’s male. Like Cordelia said, there’s never been a single case of a warlock successfully performing the Seven Wonders.

“Well, I’m worried.” Queenie said. “That bastard March laughed in Cordelia’s face the minute she walked into that hotel - told her I’d never be able to leave. When Langdon arrived, he literally told me to take his hand.”

The silence was tense, the uncertainty palpable. Queenie was not one for denial; you all knew that Michael’s power surpassed that of the current Supreme by a long shot.

Cordelia appeared from around the corner, and you all suddenly put on fronts of perk, smiling at her in acknowledgement before sharply averting your gazes, pathetically attempting to make it seem as though you hadn’t been discussing the controversial topic of Michael Langdon.

She gave a dignified smile in return. “Girls, I know the idea of a male Supreme is a tough pill to swallow. I’m not too thrilled about it myself. But if this boy passes the Seven Wonders, he will, one day, be our leader. And considering what I’ve seen, he’ll need every bit of support he can get in order to protect the Coven.”

Heads turned as a car was heard pulling up in front of the house. You looked at the clock; they were right on time. Your body temperature rose in anticipation as everyone stood and straightened themselves out, you students putting on perhaps overly-stoic faces as Cordelia’s expression assumed the ghost of a smile. When Myrtle walked in, warlocks in tow, her expression was that of tired distaste.

Telekinesis, Divination, Concilium, Transmutation, Vitalum Vitalis, Pyrokinesis - Michael passed them all with flying colors, though you winced when he cut his hand in order to perform Pyrokinesis.

“And so we arrive at Descensum, the final test. But today I’m not asking you to perform this wonder; I am asking you to conquer it. I’d like you to retrieve my dear friend Misty Day, who lost her own battle with this very test.” All eyes snapped to Cordelia at this request.

Behold spoke up immediately, offended by the extreme altering of expectations. “That's impossible. Those who don't return from Descensum are gone forever, property of the underworld.”

The off-putting Baldwin backed up his colleague, swiftly pushing his square black glasses up the bridge of his nose. “No other Supreme's been made to do this, ever. This is not only unfair, this is suicide.”

Ariel stood, his anger more contained than his colleagues’. “Enough. Cordelia, I need a word.”

The two of them left the room and uncomfortable silence reigned, no one knowing what to say, where to look. After a minute Madison sat down, making everyone else comfortable enough to do so as well - everyone but Michael. He began to wander around the room, examining the piano, the grandfather clock, the trinkets on the fireplace mantel. It was an exertion of power; this, too, would be a part of his domain, and everything inside these walls would belong to him.

He had not looked at you once since he had arrived - though it almost seemed like he hadn’t looked at anyone besides Cordelia; with each test conquered, he would make purposeful eye contact to further communicate the inevitability of his ascension.

Michael eventually grew bored and went to retrieve the two figureheads. When the three of them returned, he wasted no time in lying down on the floor, hardly concerned about meeting Cordelia’s expectations. He waited as everyone crowded into a semi-circle above him, all eager to determine whether he was or was not the heir.

Your heart began to race; the moment you had been dreading was now at hand. With each test presented to your brother, you'd prayed for his failure, wishing to spare him this trip to hell - the length of which as yet unknown.

His voice was low and calm as he recited the incantation. “Spiritu duce, in me est. Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi. Descensum.”

Your eyes kept frantically flicking over to the clock. Three minutes passed. Five minutes passed. Honestly, you didn’t even know how long this wonder was supposed to take, but you felt that if Michael was not back by the ten minute mark, you would have to leave the room.

Everyone took an instinctual step backwards as your brother shot up with a gasp, eyes blank for a moment as he drew quick, deep breaths. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your hands fall from the tight grip they’d had on one another. You had never been so relieved.

Madison seemed pleased by his lack of cargo. “Well, that's that. C'est la vie.”

Ariel was exasperated, reiterating, “This was not a fair test.”

Cordelia ignored him, choosing to address Michael in disappointment as she desperately clung onto the hope of getting her friend back. “What happened? Where's Misty?”

Myrtle responded to Cordelia in a soft, comforting manner, still serving to demean the warlocks’ cause. “Isn't it obvious, dear? She's right where she's been for the last…”

She trailed off as a small pile of dust seemed to appear of out nowhere, gathering and expanding by Michael’s side until it transformed into a body clad in lace, chunky jewelry, and smudged eyeliner; Misty Day, you presumed.

The Supreme’s gasp was loud and trembling as she yanked her hand out of Myrtle’s, proceeding to bend down and cradle her friend’s head in her lap. “Misty, Misty, My dearest Misty!”

The girl woke, and Cordelia helped her to sit up before once again taking her head in her hands. Misty seemed confused, hesitating to adjust. “Am I…?”

“Yes! You’re back! Back from perdition.” Cordelia was in tears, too overcome with bliss to realize what was now plaguing the mind of every other woman in the room; Michael was, without a doubt, the next Supreme.

You saw your brother being helped over to a chair by his fellow warlocks. He looked completely exhausted by the incredible feat he’d just performed, his shoulders slouched, his eyes hooded. Though you hesitated before walking over to him, your sisterly instincts finally got the better of you - after all, no more than a minute had passed since you’d been wracked with the fear of his death.

You felt the eyes of the witches boring into the back of your skull, save those of the two reuniting blondes. Michael’s gaze lifted to yours as you came to stand directly in front of him, trying to make your concern sound as if it were nothing more than an expression of good sportsmanship. “Are you okay?” Your question was so forcefully monotone that it hardly sounded like a question at all.

Thankfully, he didn’t smirk, either because he was too worn out or because he didn't want to give your relationship away. He simply nodded as he continued to steady his breathing.

The warlocks stared at you in slight confusion before you returned to your schoolmates’ sides, observing Misty as she reunited with the rest of her old friends.

Myrtle looked to her Supreme, her face growing pale as she spoke. “Cordelia...”

The Supreme raised her fingers to her nose, feeling the blood pouring out of both nostrils. Myrtle and Misty quickly grabbed her arms as she began to collapse.

“What’s happening?” Mallory asked.

Ariel’s tone was unconvincingly objective as he attempted to conceal the glee he felt at this turn of events. “What always happens when a new Supreme rises; the old one fades away…” He decided to avoid tact and get straight to business. “We demand what’s ours.”

Myrtle was enraged by his brazenness. “You are a pathetic, pompous ass!”

“I did everything you asked,” Michael said, having recovered enough to stand tall. Everyone looked over at him, surprised by the sound of his voice given that he’d barely spoken since arriving. His tone was serious and somewhat melodic as he continued, “I descended into hell and I did what you couldn't. I brought her back. I passed the Seven Wonders - unless you want to add another one.”

Cordelia clutched the arms of her comrades, doing her best to remain standing. “No. There can be no doubt. You are the next Supreme…” Her sentence ended in a whisper as she lost consciousness.

____

Everyone was now seated and relaxed, chatting strictly within the spheres of their own kind. In an unexpected turn of events, both witches and warlocks seemed happy, though for entirely different reasons; for the former, it was Misty's return. For the latter, it was Michael's new status as heir to the Supremacy.

“Hello, witches.” the sweet, high-pitched voice that came from the threshold drew everyone’s attention, and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as they fixated on the small frame to whom it belonged - the iconic Stevie Nicks.

“Oh my God,” said Misty, who seemed to fall into a state of shock at the sight of the songstress. You realized Stevie’s presence was likely in celebration of Misty’s resurrection, and assessing the younger woman’s clothing, you concluded that she was quite the fan. She turned to Cordelia. “You called the white witch!”

You leaned against the wall behind the legend as she serenaded Misty with “Gypsy.” Your focus on the performance was interrupted when you saw your brother staring at you from across the room. His expression had, at first glance, seemed angry, though after a moment of uncomfortable eye contact you realized it could only be described as intense. He left the room, his eyes still locked with yours, silently commanding you to follow him. The song soon ended, and after applauding you stealthily slipped out, hoping no one would notice your departure.

You'd guessed that Michael would've gone to your room, and you’d been right. He spoke as you turned to close the door behind you. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

You moved your eyes around the room in an attempt to point out the obvious. “Well, I would’ve had to come up here at some point, wouldn’t I?” Thankfully, your voice did not sound half as timid as you’d expected it to.

He cocked his head to the side. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

“I think you’ve already been congratulated more times than you can count.”

Scoffing, he momentarily looked away, feigning humility. “Yes, the warlocks are certainly pleased.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And you aren’t?”

He raised his eyebrows incredulously, a smug look in his eye. “I’m not surprised.”

You felt heat creeping up the back of your neck due to the effort you were putting into maintaining this facade of confidence. An irritated smile spread across your face as you spoke. “Well, I’m not surprised that you’re not surprised.”

Your brother returned the smile for a moment before suddenly dropping it, his expression growing serious. After a moment he asked, “Why did you come?”

“Because you wanted to see me.” You’d been prepared for the conversation to take a serious turn, though you weren’t sure whether that would serve to clear up past resentments or to fuel new ones.

He sauntered forward. “And you wanted to see me, as well. You were worried about me. Why?”

You tilted your head to the side and furrowed your brow, surprised by the stupidity of his question. “Uh, because you could’ve died?”

Michael was now only a foot away from you, causing you to shrink into yourself ever-so-slightly. “And you care whether I live or die?”

“Of course I care - don’t be so dramatic.”

He clenched his jaw so tightly that he almost winced in discomfort. He let out a shaky breath through his nose, clearly holding back a considerable fury. “Dramatic?”

You looked at the floor at the opposite end of the room, refusing to engage with him while he was in this state.

He calmed down after a few moments and leaned forward. The sudden proximity caused you to jerk your head back. “I’m sorry to tell you that I won’t be returning to my ‘little hole in the ground,’ as I believe you put it.” He enunciated each word as if he were speaking to a child.

The beat of your pulse began hammering away at your neck so harshly that it felt as though it might be visible through your skin. “What?”

He scoffed, apparently amused by the panic that had seeped into your voice. “Oh, come on - you really think Cordelia’s going to leave the warlocks in charge of the new Supreme?”

Your words came out quiet and clipped. “You are not the new Supreme. Not yet.”

“I think Cordelia’s multiple fainting spells indicate that my ascension will happen sooner rather than later. And you didn’t answer my question.”

It did seem unlikely that Cordelia would wish to leave him under the influence of the warlocks, given their attitude towards witches. However, their Grand Chancellor possessed an extremely unwarranted hubris, which Michael’s very existence seemed to fuel far too sufficiently for the man to be willing to part with him. “I don’t think the warlocks will ever let you out of their sight, not after today.”

“They won’t have to.”

Confused, you shook your head at him, awaiting an explanation. You soon came to the realization yourself, and felt the blood drain from your face. Your voice was unconvincingly firm as you spoke. “Bullshit. I don’t believe you.”

“The decision will be made soon - and I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe that Cordelia would leave me under Ariel’s supervision.”

You put so much effort into keeping your jaw from dropping to the floor that you were left unaware of how wide your eyes had grown.

“Aw, chin up, sis.” he patted your cheek mockingly, then paused, simply staring at you. He moved his hand to grip the back of your neck before leaning in to kiss your cheek, lips lingering longer than any brother’s should. He brought his free hand to rest on the small of your back as he began to nuzzle at your neck, before finally placing his soft lips over yours. You pursed your lips just enough to keep him content as you waited for him to halt his movements, shoulders stiff and arms dangling by your sides.

Michael pulled back, searching your eyes for a moment before shoving you aside. You stumbled a bit as he walked past you and out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love comments, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> Especially if I missed something while editing lol.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You experience a spike in your powers. Some new students move in.

***

You’d turned your back on the country dining table to get dessert out of the yellow fridge - which looked as though it had come right out of a nineteen-fifties magazine - when you heard Constance gasp, and not in delight. You had become very good at distinguishing these sounds of hers; her pleased-with-Michael gasp was followed by an equally audible exhale, her frightened-by-Michael gasp caught in her throat.

“For you, Grandma.” You heard your twin say, sounding as innocent as ever.

“Michael-”

As she began to reprimand him, you turned to see your brother holding a small red rose in his hand. No, not a rose - a bit of bloodied flesh twisted into the shape. As exhausted as you were by his penchant for animal cruelty, you had to admit that this was an unusually creative endeavor.

“How many times do I have to tell you - I want no more of these carcasses in my house!” She rose from her chair, hands floundering out to her sides to display how mystified she was by his incomprehension.

“It’s not a carcass, Grandma! I got rid of the body, I just kept a piece of it, for you! I know how much you like red roses.”

You closed your eyes, wishing you could grab Michael by the scruff of his neck, take him to his room, and knock some sense into him. You would never do such a thing, of course, but this brutality was especially disappointing, as he had previously gone almost three months without killing. After this relapse, the hope for normalcy that had slowly been building inside of you was crushed, pouring out like air from a deflating plastic bag.

Constance pointed towards the door, speaking in her sternest tone. “Go to your room. Now.”

The blond, beautiful idiot that was your brother let out a discontented sound, whiny and pathetic. “But I haven’t even had dessert yet!”

He looked to the plate you held in your arms, then to you. He seemed to be begging for help with his eyes - he should’ve known better; there was nothing you could do to defend him in this situation. You held no power in this house, other than your power to calm him after one of these unfortunate scenarios.

“Now!” Constance stomped her high-heeled shoe to the ground, and Michael jumped out, his chair emitting a deafening screech as he ran out snivelling.

You set the plate down on the table, not sure whether to stay or go. You knew there was a chance that Constance would want to be alone after the fuss, but you also knew that she wouldn’t take too kindly to you leaving, not without her permission; now didn’t seem like a good time to ask which option she preferred.

She reclined, drawing one hand down the side of her face in exhaustion. Looking around the room, her eyes landed on her purse, which she had flung down on the counter. She gestured in its direction as she spoke. “Get me a cigarette, will you?”

It was not a request. You did as you were told, then sat down yourself. Neither of you touched the food you had laid out.

She took a long drag, inhaling as she said, “He’s a willful boy.”

You nodded slightly, not sure where she was going with this. She continued, “You were a willful girl too, when you were younger.” It didn’t have to be said; you’d been made to lose all spiritedness as quickly as possible in order to serve your purpose. Even Michael was aware of this.

Constance stared at you, observing your blank face. You waited for her to speak again, eventually breaking eye contact due to the uncomfortable silence. After a minute, she forked some food onto her plate. “I’m not long for this world, (Y/N). He’ll need someone - someone to take care of him.”

This made you bitter - of course he would. And of course you would be assigned to the task, as you had been assigned to it since you were barely out of toddlerhood. “I know how to do that.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly as she turned her head to the side, never looking away from you. “You’ll need to do it better. You’ll need to teach him right from wrong.”

He wouldn’t listen to you.

Constance waved her hand in the air in dismissal. “Go. I’ll clean up.”

***

“Cordelia was kind of freaked out.” You said to Coco as her expertly-drawn brows furrowed.

“Well, how long were you out for?”

You scoffed in mild amusement. “You make it sound like I passed out.”

She didn’t speak, only craned her neck forward and widened her eyes, still awaiting an answer.

“She didn’t say. Usually I feel like I’m gone longer than I actually am.” You paused, hesitant to disclose any more information than you already had - not that you’d disclosed much. “I mean...”

Coco shifted her position, taking her elbow off of the fireplace’s mantle and standing straight, expressing an increased interest. “What?”

“It was weird. I usually see stupid shit, like… a conversation we had a few hours before. I went further back this time.” You tried to avoid the urge to wipe the nervous sweat of your palms across your clothing.

Shaking her head encouragingly, she pressed for more details. “To when?”

“Like two years ago.”

“Shit.” She paused, waiting for you to respond - you didn’t know what to say. “Did you tell Cordelia?”

“Yeah. She seemed happy, I guess.” She had been damn near ecstatic, pleased to hear that one of her less accomplished pupils was improving on her powers. You supposed it made sense for her to be overjoyed by such underwhelming news, considering the pressure she was under - trying to manipulate her Coven’s undecided fate into a semblance of normalcy. You rushed to add, “It’s not like I saw anything, though. I mean, I just saw this weird old lady from my neighborhood.” Technically, you weren’t lying - you were just omitting details. Your past was far too convoluted to explain to anyone, even Coco. Perhaps too dangerous as well.

“...Sucks.” She clearly didn’t know what to say, and you couldn’t blame her. You were being awkward, fidgety. You had started this conversation simply by rushing up to her and declaring what had happened to you in your Divination class - leaving no time for standard greetings - and then you suddenly withdrew, almost regretting having told her.

It had been a month since you’d last seen your brother. As uncomfortable as it made you feel, you almost wanted him to reach out and pull you into one of those “nighttime visits,” as he’d called them. You wanted to know if he was behind this, if he was bringing to light all the memories which you’d tried so hard to tuck away. Unfortunately, you knew this was rather unlikely - he wasn’t even aware of your gift, and if he were, he’d likely figure that his presence alone was effective enough in reopening old wounds.

“The decision will be made soon,” he’d said, in some vague reference to the possibility of the warlocks returning to New Orleans for a prolonged stay.

In the first few days after Michael’s Seven Wonders, the whole school had been in near-hysterics, but after about a week or two it seemed as though most of you had bitten the bullet, swallowed the pride. There was nothing any of you could do about his power.

Everyone nearly jumped out of their skins as Myrtle stormed into the room, shouting, “I am apoplectic!”

You had no idea what was happening, as Cordelia, Zoe, and Queenie rushed in after her, trying to calm - and physically restrain - the enraged redhead.

The Supreme spoke as quietly as she could as she lagged behind Myrtle, her voice clipped as she continued to extend her arms in an attempt to grasp at her friend’s extravagant blue princess coat. “Myrtle, this is hardly an acceptable way to-”

“Acceptable?” the older woman cried. “You’re quite right, Delia. There is nothing acceptable about this situation, nothing at all! How could you allow this to happen?”

The whole room was silent, all of your eyes wide in either shock or amusement. As the two women argued, Zoe and Queenie eventually moved to stand with the crowd, realizing there was nothing they could do to help subdue the situation. You made eye contact with Queenie, furrowing your brow quizzically. The brunette gave a tired look indicating that an explanation would come soon enough.

Cordelia closed her eyes in exasperation, letting out an audible sigh as she turned from her former mentor to the group at large. “Girls, please excuse Myrtle’s behavior. Everything is alright.” Myrtle scoffed dramatically beside her, and Cordelia gave her a warning glance, returning her gaze to you students as she resumed the announcement. “As I was saying, there is no cause for alarm. I was planning to share this with you all tomorrow, but it appears that is no longer an option.”

You fidgeted with your hands as you anticipated what was coming, making an educated guess.

“Due to Michael Langdon’s completion of the Seven Wonders, it has been arranged that he, as well as a select few of his peers, will be staying with us at the Academy-” She could not restrain herself from wincing slightly before continuing. “-for an undetermined period of time.”

There it was. Murmurs broke out across the room, some outraged, some simply surprised, and some excited by the idea of finally having an opportunity to interact with the opposite sex. You weren’t even sure which of these three categories you would’ve otherwise fit into, if not for your mind-boggling circumstances.

It was so frustrating. Your brother had always been a burden of yours. He was the one person you had ever loved, and yet he required constant care, which weighed even more heavily after Constance abandoned you - just like you abandoned him.

Now the only burden he bore you was fear, intimidation. It was almost laughable, considering the absolute child you remembered him as. He had been that way, up until the very end…

There was so much left unspoken between the two of you, yet you weren’t sure that either of you wanted that to change. You couldn’t even be sure that Michael would ever approach you again, given that he seemed relatively disappointed by your reaction to his touch… at least, the extent of your reaction which you’d allowed him to see.

It was so hard to be around him. Even if he never spoke to you again, a tension would linger as long as he remained at Robichaux’s.

____

Ariel Augustus stood at the foot of the Academy’s grand staircase. He was dressed in his ever-ostentatious black cape, held together with a large golden pin. Your brother stood to the Chancellor’s side, his peers as well as Robichaux Council members dispersed all around them.

There were ten warlocks in total; “more than enough to go around,” you’d heard one girl joke to her friend. From what you could tell, there was quite the array of emotions within their small lot. Some looked excited, some looked nervous, some looked resentful. Michael looked quite pleased, his smile cartoonishly affiliative.

The Grand Chancellor spoke in a proud voice. “Ladies, we thank you for opening your doors to this talented group of young warlocks,” he looked to your Supreme, who was paying him only as much attention as was necessary, “As well as to a new age. Who knows; perhaps one day this school shall be named Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Youth.” He goaded behind a friendly composure. As irritating as Ariel was, this remark didn’t feel demeaning; the fact that the integration of the two schools was what he genuinely, desperately wanted served to offset the intended effect of the taunt.

Every witch grimaced, as did Michael, who seemed to find the older man’s frantic ambition painfully embarrassing.

Cordelia rushed to speak in order to spare everyone the pain of hearing Ariel ramble. “Every one of you girls is expected to welcome our guests as you would any other new students,” Your eyes flickered over to Ariel, who did not seemed to appreciate her use of the word “guests.”  
“This Friday we will be suspending all scheduled classes in order to visit the historic Popp’s Fountain, a holy place for our kind, in celebration of the new arrivals.” Her pleasant smile did not reach her eyes.

Myrtle was not one for decorum, not at this juncture in the Coven’s history. She’d been facing away from Ariel the entire time he was speaking, though now she threw a sidelong glance at the young warlocks. “May I remind you boys that we have a strict code of conduct in this house, and we will not stand to let any of you attempt to distract our permanent residents.”

Every one of them turned bright red, excepting your twin, of course, who simply returned Myrtle’s side-eye.

Cordelia - though clearly not happy with how Myrtle had been behaving lately - held back a smile which seemed to indicate that she’d considered saying the same thing, though likely with a softer delivery. “It’s time our new students got settled. Do we have any volunteers to show them to their quarters?”

You pressed the nail of your index finger into your thumb, trying to distract yourself from how badly you wanted to raise your hand. You watched as a few girls came forward and began guiding the small herd up the staircase.

Ariel began again, much to everyone’s dismay, gesturing towards his colleague. “My esteemed associate, John Henry Moore, will be taking an instructor’s position for the time being.”

The man’s hair was dark brown, his eyes a clear crystal blue. From him radiated a certain angst, a certain… bitterness. He reminded you somewhat of Michael.

John Henry barely raised his hand in salutation, not particularly thrilled by his surroundings - though this appeared to be more out of boredom than distaste. He chose not to stand by the Chancellor’s side but against the wall to the right of the staircase, removed from both witches and warlocks alike. He was interesting, being so hesitant to associate himself with his brothers-in-arms - he hadn’t even seemed happy attending Michael’s performance of the Seven Wonders.

Cordelia tried to wind things up quickly but courteously. “Thank you, Ariel, for your visit. We’ll see to it that everyone’s made comfortable.” 

Her efforts proved pointless as Myrtle added, “You mustn’t miss your flight.”

The man scowled before forcing a decorous smile back onto his face, desperate to keep up a confident appearance. He shook hands with his associates before strutting to the front door, the chief of staff, Miriam, escorting him out.

You wondered why he wasn’t moving in, in place of John Henry; after all, he was the Grand Chancellor. The Supreme outranked him, of course, and the only reason why the warlocks were being allowed on the premises was so that Cordelia could keep an eye on Michael… you wouldn’t be surprised if her one condition during negotiations was that Ariel could not accompany his “Alpha” to the Academy.

As soon as the door had been shut and bolted, Cordelia announced, “Dinner in an hour, girls. Don’t be late.”

Frantic chattering broke out throughout the room, and Madison’s silken blonde hair flew across your face as she tossed it, turning to address you and Coco. “At least there’s some new snacks on the table.” she said, half-heartedly attempting to conceal her feeling of defeat.

“This is turning into a total fuckfest.” Coco said while staring at John Henry, who was currently in conversation with Cordelia. Myrtle was by her side, looking just as enthusiastic as Coco sounded.

You gave a sigh. “Tell me about it.” You didn’t want to be self-pitying, but you’d be willing to bet that this whole situation affected you more than any other witch at the Academy - besides perhaps Cordelia, whose life force was slowly leaking out of her body and into Michael’s.

Coco folded her arms across her chest, hands fervently kneading her upper arms. “I am not going on Friday - I will protest, I will go on a hunger strike!”

Madison flicked open her lighter and lit the cigarette she’d popped between her teeth, mumbling out, “Or you could just say you’re sick.”

Coco narrowed her eyes. “I’m not joking.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

There was a pause. “This is going to be so fucking awkward.” You said, more to yourself than to your friends.

The house was big, but not big enough. You would see Michael at least once a day at dinner, and you would likely pass him in the hallways every now and again. Hell, he might even be placed into one of your classes.

You felt shame rising in your chest and burning behind your eyes. Why were you being so selfish? Michael wasn't just some mere inconvenience. He was your brother. You felt immense regret, believing you should’ve already given him an authentic apology, even though he’d purposefully thwarted one the night of your reunion. This time you would ignore his cockiness - which was clearly a defense mechanism - and force him to listen to you; how hard it was for you to leave, how missing him sometimes felt like more than you could bear.

Above all, you would tell him that you loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> As always, do tell me if I missed something while editing.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The school field trip turns into a stressful affair.
> 
> (Side note - because it took me a bit longer to upload this chapter, the next chapter will be up in the next 1-2 days.)

You fanned yourself with your hand as you walked down the boulevard, surrounded by your fellow students. The thick heat of New Orleans sunk deep into your skin as the black of your clothing absorbed the sun. You felt isolated, Coco having stuck to her guns about skipping the day trip, and you now believed you should have followed her lead in feigning illness. You were already tired, already bored - though on edge.

Nothing had happened with Michael over the past few days. At dinner, he was too preoccupied chatting with his fellow warlocks, many chairs down from you. On his first night, as everyone was gathered in the living room, he seemed to enjoy the attention multiple witches were giving both him and his peers, though of course he was the main attraction. Not only was he the future Supreme, but he had always been irritatingly good looking; his fellow warlocks never stood a chance of garnering more attention than he did.

You supposed something had happened, if you counted the moment he had seen you staring at him and his flock of admirers; he looked at you and smirked.

It was infuriating on so many levels. First, you were merely looking at the girls, taking in the scene. Second, he seemed quite pleased by the thought of you being jealous at the mere sight of him conversing with other women. Third, he was assuming that you were still willing to engage in that particularly unfortunate facet of your relationship, which you had given up the moment you left - save for the slip-up a couple of weeks ago.

But did he want to maintain any sort of relationship? It didn’t seem like it.

By the time all of you made it to Popp’s Fountain, your hair was thick with sweat, and your clothing felt disgustingly moist, clinging to your skin.

You took in the beauty of the scene. Large oak trees stood all around you, the columns encircling the fountain overgrown with vines. The spout from which the water erupted was welded into the shape of grass leaves surrounded by leaping fish, all a mineral green.

Myrtle turned and halted the stampede to give a brief history of the site and its accordance with witches. “Back in the 1970’s, Mary Oneida Toups led an alternative Coven; her and her sister witches would often gather at this beautiful site, proudly, publicly, very much in the spirit of the times.”

Her large black sunglasses obscured much of her face, but one could tell by the rigidity of her lips alone that she was not enjoying the outing. “That was a time of hope for our kind, a time of bravery. Unfortunately, we witches became too comfortable, trusting too much in the world. Ever since our Supreme, Cordelia Goode-” she raised a lace-gloved hand to her daughter of sorts, “-Went on her campaign in 2014, our numbers have increased greatly. But we must not let our guard down, as our predecessors did. We must be wary of those who would threaten the integrity of our Coven.”

Everyone was slowly growing tired of her near-constant spiels concerning the dangers of associating too closely with the warlocks. Even some of the most devoutly displeased of your kind - primarily the Council members, Madison, and of course, yourself - were beginning to cringe at the very sound of her voice. 

Though Coco certainly wasn’t. In fact, the two women had become increasingly close over the last few weeks, bonding over their shared hatred of your male counterparts - particularly Michael.

The Supreme stepped forward, partially blocking Myrtle from the view of the crowd. “Everyone - look around, enjoy. Draw strength from the powerful magic still lingering in the air.”

Many rushed to sit on the edge of the fountain, gathering water to rub on their necks and wrists, desperate for some sort of reprieve from the stifling temperature. You went to stand under the shade of an exceptionally large tree, not in the mood to be anywhere near anyone.

It was not too long before you heard footsteps approaching, and you turned, both relieved and embarrassingly disappointed to find it was not your brother who sought you out.

“Hi.” Said John Henry Moore, a friendly smile on his face.

You had no idea how to act, given that you’d been in each other’s presences many times, but had never been formally introduced. "Hi."

His eyes were alight with sincerity. “I’ve been making the rounds, trying to meet everyone before starting tomorrow. You’re… (Y/N) Harmon, correct?”

His use of your last name caught you off guard - it had never been used in front of him, not to your knowledge. “Um - yeah. and you’re John Henry Moore.”

He pulled off shaking your hand with surprising charm, given that both your hands and his were covered in sheens of sweat. Exhaling, he gave a tight, understanding smile. “I know this is awkward for everyone - believe me, I never would’ve imagined moving out here.”

You shrugged, returning his smile in a reassuring manner. “I mean, everything’s been kind of… crazy,” you tried to be as vague as possible, not knowing how else to express your complicated emotions, “But it’s not so bad.”

His tone was suddenly sarcastic, inquisitive. “Are you sure about that?”

You gave a questioning look, heart rate spiking a bit due to the unexpected prod. “What?”

He leaned forward as he spoke, resting his shoulder against the trunk of the tree. “It’s just that things seem a bit tense - between you and your brother, I mean.”

Your mouth fell open, your eyes almost bulged out of your head. Your entire torso felt empty, as if your insides had been ripped out by dread. You didn’t speak; you couldn’t, despite how much you wanted to.

John Henry clearly took your abject terror as confirmation of his accusation. “I’m a sneak and a snoop - different last names don’t do much to get in the way. So, what’s the deal? Different daddies? Or did you just change you name?”

You paused, briskly looking him up and down in a nervous challenge. “Why do you care?” Your words only served to make you sound even guiltier. However, you weren’t exactly sure what, if anything, you were guilty of.

“I just find it odd. Neither of you have much in your files... neither of you have any home contact numbers... really, the only valuable information in there is your shared dates - and places - of birth; (MM/DD/YY), 1120 Westchester Place, Los Angeles.”

He hadn’t answered your question, and you were genuinely curious to hear his response. It wasn’t as if he could claim you had been withholding information - you’d seen him on three separate occasions in the last month, one of those being his formal arrival last night. The two of you hadn’t even spoken until now. You certainly weren't obliged to tell him about your personal life.

“Doesn’t seem like it took much effort.” You said, trying to sound indifferent.

“Well, technically, neither Coven is supposed to have access to the other’s files.”

“Why the hell did you go through them, anyway?”

“Call it a gut feeling. At first I thought, ‘bad breakup’-” You looked away in embarrassment. “-But then curiosity got the best of me.”

“...Okay?” Now you tried to conceal your panic by patronizing him, urging him to get to the point.

“I don’t know what kind of problems the two of you’ve got, or what you know,” That last part caught you a bit off guard, “But if Michael pulls any shit around here, he won’t be the only one paying for it.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but could only stare as he swiftly turned away, heading towards a group of young girls, likely to introduce himself - unless he was planning on blackmailing them as well.

Was that what had just happened? It would seem so, with his clandestine delivery, though he didn’t explicitly say what he wanted in return for keeping a secret that, in theory, did not incriminate you whatsoever. You supposed he was simply telling you to keep Michael in line, though you’d been under the impression that the warlocks all saw your brother as a model of perfection.

Myrtle’s paranoia was by no means shocking - she was a very traditional witch, as well as the Supreme’s main advisor. Any differentiation in the Coven’s structure was likely to rattle her nerves. John Henry Moore, however, was a warlock. He was relatively young, and, as far as you could tell, slightly rebellious - it was quite startling to hear that he was suspicious of Michael.

He didn’t want to see a male Supreme on the throne without knowing if there was a price to be paid.

You felt a tad dizzy. You needed to go somewhere, anywhere, where this herd of black-clad cattle would not follow.

Wandering far off into the grass fields, you came to see that City Park had various other enchantments to offer besides its fountain. There were botanical gardens, sculpture displays, a carousel… but the most calming space you’d been able to find was a stone bridge over a small stream, the area secluded by the Spanish moss dangling down from thick tree branches.

You saw Cordelia approaching. There was nothing you could do about it; you’d made eye contact, and it would be exceedingly odd if you simply turned on your heel and walked off. 

As she grew near, she began to move her eyes around the charming scene. “It’s so beautiful here.”

You simply nodded, almost worried that she, too, had come to dig at you. “Yeah.”

She came to stand directly beside you, staring down into the reflective water. “You seem tired, (Y/N).”

You shook your head reassuringly as you looked down into the water. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I don’t think any of us did.” She chuckled lightly before returning to her calm yet concerned tone. “Is there something else bothering you - your powers?”

You refused to make eye contact, far from in the mood to discuss such a serious and disturbing topic. You couldn’t blame her, not really; she had no idea how emotionally confusing your latest vision had been. “My powers?”

“You had a very notable and unexpected breakthrough. That can be challenging, especially considering that your gift is… more personal in nature.”

You wanted to unburden yourself, to share every detail of your unwelcome memory and be comforted by anyone who would listen. But where would that leave you? You would be forever associated with the boy who pulled the rug out from under your Coven. “I’m fine.”

Realizing that you weren’t willing to discuss the matter any further, Cordelia turned to face you, giving an appreciative smile. “Either way, it seems you’re one of the few girls who haven’t suddenly changed their minds about the warlocks joining us.”

“Yeah...”

“You know, if you’d ever like to speak with someone, the Coven has a very talented doctor located in Algiers.” 

Did you really seem that stressed out? Coco hadn’t remarked on it - though of course you had to consider that she’d been rather preoccupied with her own anxieties as of late. Perhaps the heat of the day was simply beginning to wear on you, making you look exceptionally drained.

“I’m okay, Cordelia. I’m just… ”

***

After Michael had killed the neighbor’s dog, Constance had brought in a priest to try and exorcise whatever demon she seemed to believe had taken ahold of him.

You and her were sitting in the living room when you heard the prayers come to an abrupt halt. Your eyes met hers, and you saw your panic mirrored. Earlier, you’d made a sarcastic comment - which had earned you a smack to the back of the head - suggesting that hiring a stranger to yell at Michael would likely lead to said stranger’s demise. 

After speeding down the hallway, you found yourself wracked with dread as you stared at the bloodied walls of your brother’s bedroom; it looked like a damned Jackson Pollock painting in there.

Constance was hyperventilating as she brushed past you, leaving the house without a word. When you looked to Michael, he seemed confused by her distress. “Why is she so upset?”

You shakily rain both hands through your hair. You had genuinely expected him to retaliate, but to find out that your stupid joke turned out to be no joke at all... you didn’t know what to say, so you simply stated the obvious in a shrill, weakened voice. “Michael… You killed him… ”

He gave you a hurt frown, standing up and defensively crossing his arms over his chest. “He kept yelling at me, and shoving the cross in my face! It was hurting me!”

Hurting him? You squeezed your eyes shut and moved your arms around nonsensically. “You can’t - you can’t just kill everyone who bothers you!”

You looked down at the corpse, frightened tears welling up in your eyes. He came over to give you a hug, remorseful for having upset you, rather than for taking a man’s life; it was clear that he didn’t understand the implications of what he had done. If he, now a teenager, had no qualms about killing another human being - what was he likely to do the next time Constance corrected his grammar? Or the next time the two of you got into a petty sibling argument?

“I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.” You had lived with him all your life; you were aware of how little that promise meant.

When he let you go, you both went to look for his grandmother. You wound up venturing over to the home she’d lived in for many years; the home where the two of you were born.

Michael ran across the road while you stuck to a fast walk. When you arrived on the porch, he took a moment to simply stare at the door, the depth of his clear blue eyes still blurred in fear. He placed his hand on the doorknob and crossed the threshold, whipping around when he heard no footsteps behind him. He frantically shrugged in expectation, saying, “Come on!”

You looked at him in annoyance. You’d told him multiple times throughout your life that you were quite uninterested in returning to the “Murder House,” as some called it. Your brother was so selfish, expecting you to do and say whatever he wanted in any given situation. 

He was also helpless, and it was as infuriating as it was endearing. You couldn’t prevent yourself from following him in.

You were now immersed in the rich mahogany walls of the house, which you had seen online when you looked up interior shots out of confused curiosity. It was odd - the furniture was covered, the air deadly quiet, yet there was no dust to be seen. You had been under the impression that no living person had inhabited the home for years.

As Michael ran around frantically, you heard the flick of a lighter emanating from a room at the end of the hallway. You lead him there, holding his hand so as to make sure he didn’t run in and suffocate his grandmother with apologies and excuses.

You entered to see Constance slowly pacing around the room, cigarette in hand as she shook her head, a bitter smile coming to rest on her lips.

“You know Michael, you were just an angel as a baby.” She smiled and took a drag, exhaling as she continued, “So when you started down this path, I ignored and ignored; all the crushed flies in your crib, all the little bloodied rats.”

Tears were beginning to form in her eyes - a rare sight to behold. It wasn’t that Constance was never emotional, but that she typically expressed her more vulnerable side through drunken ramblings, usually concerning all that she had once had, and since lost. “I have loved you, with every beat of my heart, since the day you were born. But I look at you now… and all I see is disappointment.”

Fuck. You knew that disappointing those around him was one of Michael’s biggest fears, and likely the reason behind his relatively low self-esteem. He had once confided in you that he sometimes didn’t feel like he knew who he was, as he would come home from school, where he was lauded for his exceptional intelligence and perfect grades, only to find that he was lacking in some of the most basic comportments of common sense.

Your heart broke for him as he trembled beside you.

Constance shifted her gaze, eyes narrowing as she jabbed her index finger in your direction. “And you - every time I tried to teach him right from wrong, you made sure he didn’t listen to a goddamn word I said.”

Your eyes widened in shock - how could she blame you for his behavior? She had been the one to raise him, to take care of him…

She strutted past the pair of you, addressing you one last time before she disappeared around the corner at the opposite end of the hall. “I have had enough of this mess. The two of you were born here, in this house of rot and regret… and this is where you should have stayed.” She paused, gaze flickering between you and your brother. “Do not ever think to come near my home again.”

She turned and left, and Michael rushed to follow, though you gently pulled him back. The two of you stood in silence as you listened to the clicks of her kitten-heeled footsteps grow faint.

When the front door was slammed shut, your brother whirled around and embraced you, his force almost bruising in its desperation.

You wrapped your arms around him comfortingly. “She loves you… she could change her mind… ” You trailed off. There was nothing you could say to make him feel any better, especially considering that the only reassurance you’d given him so far was a lie.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, the next chapter will be up in 1-2 days, and it will contain another interaction between Michael and (Y/N), so no more dry spell ;)
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Especially if I missed something while editing lol.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael visits you while you're resting. Cordelia makes you an interesting offer.

Waking to a large number of your schoolmates grabbing at you, their sweaty hands trying to maintain their grip on your equally sweaty limbs, was not particularly pleasant.

It was even less pleasant when you felt you’d become well enough to stand, yet Cordelia insisted you remain in their clutches, swinging like a pendulum as they broke their backs trying to keep you from dragging along the ground.

How relieving it was when you were finally placed into the hands of a Coven bodyguard, who gently sat you down in one of the many cars belonging to your increasingly populous school. Looking out the window, your eyes landed on John Henry’s face. He looked somewhat troubled. Perhaps he thought his confrontation of you was the reason behind your fainting spell.

You almost wanted to blame it on Cordelia, though of course that would be ridiculous. You were sure the mere mentioning of your breakthrough was not what had caused your blackout - it was likely the stress provided not only by John Henry’s threat, but by your situation as a whole.

Your first two significant visions had taken place relatively soon after Michael had stormed his way back into your life. Both visions pertained to him, though that was hardly worth pointing out - you and your brother had been together since before you were born, and you’d both had very few other meaningful relationships thereafter. In your case, you would argue that he’d been your only meaningful relationship, besides perhaps your friendship with Coco.

You knew you hadn’t fully appreciated him until you left him, and that guilt refused to subside.

At the moment, you were too tired to be emotional; you were more so analyzing your thoughts and feelings rather than experiencing them. How good it felt to lie on your bed, your skin cooling under the breeze of the ceiling fan, your heavy breath steadying. The white walls were made grey by the lack of sunlight in your shuttered bedroom, the house was empty and quiet - you were in heaven.

You had almost fallen into a blissful sleep when you heard a voice - no, two voices - down the hall. Hushed tones… a man and a woman. Try as you might, you couldn’t make out their identities.

Less than a minute later, one of them revealed themselves, entering your room.

This was hardly the time for you and Michael to make an attempt at a healthy, reparative conversation. However, at this stage in your relationship, you couldn’t afford to be too callous; you would have to talk to him, yet try to keep the conversation as shallow and as short-lived as possible.

Your voice was weak and breathy. You didn’t force your sore eyes to look away from the ceiling as you addressed him - you figured it was enough to see his blur in your periphery. “Is everyone back already?”

He reached the foot of your bed, resting his hand around one of its short white posts. “Don’t worry. There’s no one here but us.” He smiled in a faux-comforting manner.

Your gaze flickered down to him, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Then who were you talking to?”

Michael’s expression was almost one of worry, though that was soon washed away with a scoff and a small grimace as he momentarily looked down at the ground. “How are you feeling?” He asked, sounding uninterested.

You let out a heavy exhale, eyelids fluttering closed. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

All of a sudden the bed dipped underneath you, and your eyes shot back open to see him seating himself right beside you, so close that he was almost sitting on your arm. You realized that he still wore his school uniform, and decided to focus on that perception rather than your uncomfortable proximity. “Why are you still wearing that?”

He looked down at his chest, snorting in disapproval. “Ms. Myrtle Snow insists we wear them for the time being. I suppose she’s trying to remind us that we aren’t officially students here,” He smirked. “At least not least not yet.”

The bow around the collar was missing - perhaps it had been too constricting in the humid New Orleans air. “Well, at least it looks good on you.” While your flattery was more of an attempt at making up for the insults you’d exchanged during your last encounter, you weren’t lying. It was quite a uniform, flattering on all young warlocks, both plain and handsome - which meant that it made Michael look like he was modelling couture.

He slowly yet firmly trailed his hand up your opposite side, coming to comb his fingers through the hair at your temples, strands still damp and matted with sweat. After a few moments his hand slid down to your jawline, and he ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

You were nearing dangerous territory, so you took his hand in yours, shakily moving it back down to his side. As you did this, John Henry’s threat rang in your mind; “If Michael pulls any shit around here, he won’t be the only one paying for his crimes…”

You’d planned to tell Michael that John Henry knew of your blood ties, though that seemed like the less important point of that unfortunate conversation - what “shit” was he expecting Michael to pull?

Your mouth ran dry. You tried to reassure yourself that, for better or for worse, the Michael before you now was far removed from the boy you’d once known. Swallowing, you asked, “Michael, you’re not still… h-hurting people-”

He cut you off with a quick wave of his hand, breaking eye contact as he shook his head in bitter disbelief. “Of course not.” A beat passed, then he looked back down at you with a playfully dark grin. “Do you think I’d be here right now if I’d kept up that awful behavior?” He asked sarcastically.

Another question popped into your mind. “Why exactly are you here right now?”

He looked at you as though you were incredibly dumb, drawing out his answer to make it as overtly clear as possible. “For the same reasons you are.”

You kept assaulting him with questions. “Why did it take you so long to find the warlocks?”

Your brother gave an annoyed scoff. “Excuse me if I’m not as adept at abandonment as you are.”

“We have to talk about-”

He suddenly brought his hand up and around the base of your throat, palm resting atop your collarbone. You stopped talking.

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, your breath hitching on contact. He attempted to move his soft lips to yours, though you turned away, clearly on the fence concerning your intimacy. This happened again, and he sat up suddenly, letting out a huff of irritation. You closed your eyes in regret.

They flew open, though, when a hand clamped down on your groin. You gasped loudly, lifting your head and drawing up your legs in defense. Michael shoved you back down by your neck, proceeding to spread your legs apart.

He yanked your clothing out of the way, leaving your lower half almost completely exposed, save for your underwear.

You had once promised yourself…

You tried not to look away from him as your voice came out in a whisper. “Michael...”

He ignored you, slipping his hand under the waistband of your underwear and massaging your clit, making you shuddered in surprise. You turned away and stared at the blank wall, ashamed that you weren’t kicking and shoving him off of you with all your might.

“Look at me.” you closed your eyes for a moment before turning to meet his gaze. As soon as his eyes were locked on yours, he jammed two of his fingers inside you. You cried out at his force and clamped your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds.

He began pumping his fingers in and out of you, seemingly delighted by the startled reaction he’d elicited. His eyes twinkled as he kept his tongue pressed between his teeth, half-heartedly preventing himself from breaking into a full-on grin.

Despite the various physical sensations you were experiencing, you were able to bring yourself to speak. “You should stop...”

Michael leaned down, whispering in your ear, “It doesn’t feel like you want me to stop.”

Your face flushed red, though you refused to look away in embarrassment - for the moment, anyway.

He kept moving at the most infuriatingly perfect pace, his thumb rubbing small circles over your clit. You ground your teeth and desperately gripped at the bedsheets in a fight to keep your face devoid of any reaction. He seemed determined to make you break, angling his hand in such a way that allowed him to move deeper, forcing you to release a strained, irritated, “Mmm...”

“You know, when I asked you if you’d whored yourself out on your way here, I wasn’t sure I believed you when you said no,” He began moving faster, letting out a satisfied breath of a laugh. “But it seems like you were telling the truth.”

An embarrassingly audible exhale escaped you as you opened your mouth to respond. “Shut up.” 

You finally turned away, allowing yourself some small reprieve. A new layer of sweat covered your skin, and you began to feel a tightening between your hips as Michael intensified his pressure on your bud.

“You’re gonna come.” He stated. When he didn’t receive a response, he halted his movements, using his free hand to grab you by the jaw and turn you to face him. “Aren’t you?”

You assumed an expression of resentment in spite of the incredible pleasure pulsing throughout your core. “Yes.”

“Then look at me.”

He roughly let go of your jaw. Your breathing was ragged, shallowing as you felt the pressure quickly building inside your nether regions, so intense that it felt as though the rest of you had been hollowed out. A cord snapped and your eyelids fluttered, and you couldn’t help yourself from pushing the top of your head back into the pillows as you came. You soon felt Michael’s hand press down on your chest, forcing your face - contorted in ecstasy - to remain roughly within his line of sight. You stared up at the ceiling, your legs bending and unbending behind him.

All too soon your muscles relaxed, your movements slowed, and your heart rate calmed as you urgently tried to catch your breath. Michael slid his fingers out of you, proceeding to place them upon your lips.

Too exhausted to resist, you parted your lips slightly. He looked intimidatingly serious as he dragged your bottom lip down so low that it eventually snapped back into place of its own accord, his wet fingers staining your chin. He then slipped them inside of your mouth, coating your tongue in your own come. Hesitantly, you closed your mouth around them, and he withdrew to gently spread your saliva over your lips.

He smiled and gave you a kiss on the forehead, seeming pleased with himself - and, perhaps unbeknownst to him, slightly reassured. He got up and walked over to the door, facing away from you as he gave his farewell. “Get well soon.”

____ 

You very purposefully avoided looking at anything but your plate during breakfast, afraid to make eye contact with your brother.

Coco and Mallory sat on either side of you, the former going off on one of her curse-ridden, Myrtle-esque rants. “This is the most painful fucking thing I have ever experienced. Why the hell is everyone acting like everything’s fine?”

Mallory leaned over to address Coco, a playfully reprimanding smile on her face. “Come on, they’re not that bad.” She said. “Some of them are really nice.”

Coco completely ignored her comment, quietly spitting out, “Okay, let me correct myself then - we aren’t even acting anymore! Our sisters have been hitting on these dickwads night and fucking day, and it’s only a matter of time before they start screwing them - screwing Langdon, the fucker who’s going to fuck over our entire Coven!”

You bit your bottom lip, feeling guilty. Someone had already screwed Langdon, in a certain sense, and that person was his fucking sister, who had once convinced herself that she’d kicked that disturbing habit for good. Of course, that might’ve been easier to believe when she thought she’d never see him again.

And what if you had given in for nothing? What if he’d just wanted to see that he could get you to crack, and would now move on to other girls? That seemed like something current Michael would do. With each passing hour, you grew more and more agitated by the fact that the two of you hadn’t been able to work through your abundance of drama - and yesterday’s missed opportunity certainly wasn’t helping.

“Come on.” You spoke up, anxious to leave the overcrowded dining room. “We’re gonna be late to class.”

The three of you sat in the smaller classroom, you and Mallory being forced to listen as Coco continue her frantic speech. You exchanged a look of pure relief when, after a considerable amount of time had passed, she moved onto the topic of haircare.

You looked up at the clock. It was 9:10 - class was supposed to have started ten minutes ago. It wasn’t often that an instructor was late, seeing as how all of them lived at the school.

Miriam entered the room. “Hello girls,” she said, her charming smile spreading across her severe, gothically made-up face. “Happy to tell you you’ve got this period off - we can’t find John Henry anywhere.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, thoroughly displeased to be in one of that man’s classes. At least you were excused for today.

A few days passed in which you continued to have that first period off, and you began to feel a bit concerned. Your unease was not tempered by the fact that you’d twice caught glimpses of Council members huddled up on the porch at night, their faces hardened with worry.

Throughout dinners, you stared not at your plate, but at the empty chair in which John Henry typically sat, situated across from Cordelia.

You awoke one night, bitterly leaving your warm bed and groggily trekking to the bathroom. On your way, you heard the sound of the television softly floating up the stairs, and you couldn’t help but creep down to see who was still up at this hour. You didn’t know why your interest was piqued - it was probably just one of the warlocks being arrogant and ignoring the firm curfew rules, watching God-knows-what.

Approaching the TV room, you grew confused as you realized what channel was being played; you didn’t believe the average student would break curfew simply to watch the news.

You strained your ears to listen.

“...According to Police Chief Mark Finstein, the department is currently working off of the assumption that the as-yet-unidentified owner was injured in the crash, and exited the vehicle in search of help-” The sound suddenly cut out.

You furrowed your brow as you made out Cordelia’s hushed voice; you could tell she was pacing from the way her speech came in and out of audible focus. “God, the warlocks will be furious. They’ll think we’re responsible.”

Myrtle responded, her tone soft and composed. “Delia, I’m afraid you’ve missed the mark entirely - they will think us innocent.”

The younger woman scoffed. “What?”

You tensed as Myrtle answered, the clarity of her voice indicating that she was now somewhat closer to the room’s threshold - to you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they themselves orchestrated this horrible mess.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“My dear, John Henry was the sole member of the warlock’s council to seem even slightly less than ecstatic at Michael’s completion of the Seven Wonders. I don’t believe that little snake Ariel would have any qualms about destroying anyone who might stand in the way of his protégé becoming Supreme.”

“Let’s pretend they would do such a thing. Why would they send him here to begin with?”

“To shift the suspicion onto us, of course. It won’t be long until they’re at our doors with torches and pitchforks, demanding-”

“Stop.” Cordelia demanded, silencing her friend.

You panicked, and, fearing that you had somehow alerted them as to your eavesdropping, began to scamper backwards in an attempt to duck into a random room before they turned the corner.

You failed, halting your movements in defeat as Cordelia rounded the threshold, Myrtle soon appearing behind her. They stared at you in all your exposed, pajama-clad glory, having nothing to say for yourself that could possibly defend your actions.

Cordelia looked at you curiously as Myrtle spoke, clearly outraged by your intrusion. “(Y/N) Harmon, what on earth are you doing?! Have you no respect for privacy, for your elders?!” She hissed.

You stared, wide-eyed, nervously imagining the many potential consequences of your actions. You could barely speak. “ I-I...”

Cordelia took a step forward. “Would you join us, (Y/N)?”

Her voice was surprisingly kind, her eyes surprisingly soft; in them lay a glimmer of what almost appeared to be hope.

“...Sure - I mean, yes.” You winced at your awkward response and began walking toward them, feeling progressively less intimidated with each step. 

As soon as you all settled down onto the couches, Cordelia caught your gaze, her expression undoubtedly serious as she said, “(Y/N), I would like to invite you to join the Council.”

Your mouth fell open; that was certainly not what you’d expected to hear. Myrtle had a similar reaction, her face creasing in confusion as she gaped at your Supreme - it seemed she had not been consulted on this matter.

You needed context. “What?”

Cordelia leaned forward and rested her forearms on her thighs. She took your hand in hers, squeezing in solidarity. “Your ability to see into the past is more crucial now than it’s ever been. I’m sure you understand why, considering the conversation you just overheard.”

You stared, wide-eyed. “But I can only see into my own past.”

“For now. Your powers are growing, (Y/N), that is clear to see. And if John Henry isn’t found alive - or found at all - we’ll need to find out exactly what happened to him, for the safety of the Coven.” She paused, giving you a moment to think. “Do you accept my invitation?”

You took a deep breath, the pressure of your assigned task already weighing on you. “I accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think - and let me know if you caught the S1 character reference ;)
> 
> As usual, please feel free to point out if I missed something while editing.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seed is planted. You have a vision detailing a past turning point.

You and the Council - which now included Madison, who was invited to join given her status as a long-time member of the Coven - sat in Cordelia’s large bedroom after curfew, discussing the details of the mysterious car crash which you all believed to be linked to John Henry’s week-old disappearance.

The Supreme looked up from the ground, her brows furrowed in contemplation. “The police say the car’s plates were stolen, so they still haven’t been able to identify the owner.”

Madison’s voice was somehow both stressed and bored at the same time. “Well, sounds like they’re doing a real bang-up job.”

Myrtle placed a gloved hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “This is all the more reason for us to get involved, Delia.” She urged.

It seemed the Supreme was having second thoughts about getting too involved too soon - rather, about getting involved at all. She seemed to believe that doing so would automatically result in the warlocks accusing the witches of harming their brother. “I don’t know… we would be putting the Coven at great risk.”

“We’re already at great risk,” said Queenie, “whether these warlock assholes were involved or not, someone fucked with John Henry. If they attacked a warlock, they’ll attack a witch.”

“What if-” Zoe began, cutting herself off, looking away in embarrassment before Myrtle urged her to say her piece. “What if whoever did this was a witch?”

Everyone looked at her in shock, including you, but she soldiered on. “I mean, what if there was someone so angry about the warlocks moving in that they were willing to do anything to get them out?”

Myrtle responded in a somewhat patronizing manner, half-heartedly attempting to conceal how revolted she was by this suggestion. “Zoe, those most upset about the warlocks’ residencies are all gathered in this very room, at this very moment - aside from Coco, whom I saw multiple times on the eve of John Henry’s disappearance.”

“The warlocks have been a little freaked out.” You chimed in, feeling somewhat hopeful that this theory would prove to be true, despite the scandal it would cause within your Coven. It seemed more viable than any of the other scenarios you’d imagined.

Of course, this might be due to the fact that, at the moment, you were forcing your imagination to be very, very selective.

Queenie crossed her arms. “Except for Langdon - I mean, if someone’s trying to scare the warlocks away, wouldn’t they go after him?”

Your palms began to sweat.

“He’s too powerful.” Madison said, her inflection clearly meant to point out how moronic she believed Queenie’s question to be.

“This is absurd.” Said Myrtle, raising her voice despite the importance of keeping this conversation unbeknownst to the rest of the school. “No witch would ever be so reckless as to risk incriminating the Coven over some simple aversion. This was the act of an impetuous man - an impetuous warlock.” She paused to shift her gaze between the five of you, making sure she had your utmost attention. “I think we’re all aware that Michael Langdon’s ego has only grown since his arrival at the Academy.”

You flinched slightly, knowing what conclusion was about to be drawn.

Cordelia raised her eyebrows, dubious yet intrigued. “Are you implying that Michael had something to do with this?”

“Of course. Now that so many of our girls are beginning to fall at his feet,” she gave an exaggerated shiver, signifying her disgust, “He’ll want to eliminate any remaining challengers.”

Madison brought her freshly-lit cigarette to her lips. “Then you might wanna watch out, Carrot Top.” You’d recently learned that those two shared a particularly intense dislike of one another.

The comment seemed to roll off Myrtle like water off a duck’s back. “Oh, do shut up dear - your insults grow less and less creative with each bout.”

The petite blonde rolled her eyes in annoyance, Cordelia having cut her off before she could maker her retort. “Have you been reciting the chant I gave you, (Y/N)?”

The chant which would supposedly help your powers blossom into a greater state; “Seminare intellectum scientiae virtutem spei. Illud quod oculis videre non possumus, ad incrementum.” You had looked it up in one of the school’s older spellbooks and found that its success rate was more or less fifty-fifty - not that you minded. You were already beginning to question your decision in joining the Council. You wanted to be in the know, to protect the Coven, yet you had come to realize that - as with every other aspect of your life - the spotlight was beginning to shift over to Michael.

Dangerously so.

You fidgeted with your fingers, now unsure as to whether or not you wanted to help solve the mystery at hand. “Yes, everyday.”

“Have you made any further progress?”

You looked down, cheeks growing red with embarrassment. “I haven’t seen anything since Popp’s Fountain last week.”

Everyone tried to conceal their slight disappointment - except for Madison, who displayed her exasperation in full, rolling her eyes yet again as she let out an irritated sigh. She turned towards Myrtle. “Don’t you have some sort of truth spell thing you could use, like the one you used on Spalding?”

“That spell is only effective when cast on the non-gifted. Besides, we mustn’t in any way alert the warlocks as to our investigation. Michael would notice immediately the powerful urge to speak the truth - it would be an entirely new sensation for him, I’m sure.”

Cordelia closed her eyes and gave a deep exhale before speaking. “We’ll be powerless to do anything if we’re all exhausted. Goodnight, girls - we’ll meet again soon.”

Parting words were exchanged as everyone cleared the room. Cordelia gently laid a hand on your upper arm before you made it through the door, encouraging you to linger behind. “You will let me know the next time you have a vision?”

You nodded, wondering if she’d already begun to lose faith in you. “Of course.”

She smiled, surprising you with a reassuring squeeze of your shoulders. “I know you can do this.”

It was almost as if you were trying to scrub her affirmations out of your head as you assaulted your scalp, roughly kneading shampoo into your hair. You weren’t sure if her trust in you made you feel better or worse; it was nice to feel as though someone believed in you, but what if that belief was misplaced - what if your only power was the ability to see into your own past? No matter how vivid those visions would get, they would only serve as enhanced memories.

And even if you were able to expand the range of your power, would you want to make use of it? The idea of pulling back the curtain on other people’s lives against their will seemed uncomfortable to you, especially if you wound up having to do so to Michael… what if you didn’t like what you saw? If the Council’s fears were confirmed, you would surely have a breakdown. If he was completely innocent in the case of John Henry, you might still wind up witnessing those two years you’d been away from each other; you’d see the pain you had caused him, up close and personal.

You turned down the water temperature, the hot steam having overwhelmed your senses. When that didn’t make you feel any better, you turned off the water altogether, moving to crack the door open. You collapsed before you could reach the handle.

***

You sat on the windowsill, observing the grass of your backyard as it was pelted with raindrops. You’d been there for quite some time, relishing in the short break from the hot, dry weather typical of Los Angeles.

However, you were slowly growing bored. Michael was asleep, and you weren’t interested in watching anything. You wanted to explore.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, considering the stupidity of this urge - you were already living in a house notorious for its death toll, and, after doing a bit of research online, you’d found that the basement was the hotspot of its murderous activities.

Still, you gave in.

The house’s dark oak interior usually served as a haven, shielding you from the blinding sun, though on a day such as this, it felt more like a dark, inescapable wood. However, this made entering the basement feel less intimidating, as it was suddenly no more shrouded than the rest of the house. Once you made it past the cramped wooden staircase, its high, slit-like windows provided just enough light for you to forego using a flashlight.

Wandering between the cement rooms, you stumbled upon a space which stored a variety of old furniture; dressers, desks, trunks, etc.

You began opening drawers, some of which required intense physical effort, due to them having sat in stagnation for God knew how long. Opening a particularly large trunk, you saw that it was packed with large glass jars; you proceeded to awkwardly force your hands under one’s weight. Cradling it in your arms, you were held in captive attention by its contents - a dead piglet, perfectly preserved in what you assumed was formaldehyde.

Your eyes widened playfully, whispering, “What the fuck?” as you set it down on a nearby nightstand.

You weren’t completely bewildered; you assumed the macabre oddity must have belonged to the house’s original owner - deranged surgeon Charles Montgomery - though you were mystified as to how it remained in the house after almost one hundred years and dozens of residents.

Morbid curiosity got the better of you as you spent at least two whole minutes rotating the glass upon the dusty wooden surface, watching as the lifeless animal floated around in the liquid preservative. When you turned it on its side, it bobbed around for a moment, almost looking as if it were swimming.

You abandoned the specimen, kneeling to inspect a bright yellow object which stuck out from under a beaten-up wardrobe. To your amused surprise, it was a pornographic magazine, filled with pictures of obscenely muscular men engaging in creative sex acts.

“What the hell are you doing?” A deep, hostile voice asked. You shot up from the ground as you made out the man in the doorway, wary of any unexpected company.

He was blond, tall, and vaguely familiar - you were sure you must have read about him. Another man, shorter and brunet, suddenly appeared behind him.

“Oh, Pat, I’m sure you’ll survive a few minutes without your precious Playguys.” He snarkily reassured his friend.

As the name was mentioned, you realized these were the two men who’d fallen victim to a murder-suicide barely a year before your family moved in.

“Very funny.” Patrick responded, lazily rolling his eyes. It seemed they were not currently on the best of terms.

A mischievously condescending grin broke out over the brunet’s - Chad’s - face. He seized the awkward moment as an opportunity to entertain himself, folding his arms across his chest and sauntering forward, stopping about five feet away from you to lean against the wall. “So, the prodigal twins return.”

His partner seemed confused for a moment, though a look of realization soon passed over his bearded face. 

Hesitantly, you asked, “You know us?”

“All too well, (Y/N).” His tone leaned in the direction of threatening.

You stepped forward, mustering up a pathetically false sense of confidence. “And I know you, Chad. You killed him,” You nodded in Patrick’s direction, “Before killing yourself. So I’d appreciate it if you left us alone.”

The grin turned into a bitter grimace for a split second, then returned in full, mocking force. “Sorry to burst your holier-than-thou bubble, but you’ve got it all wrong. We were both murdered.” His eyes flickered in the light as he lilted his head to the side, accentuating his dark intent as he continued, “By Langdon, Sr., in fact.”

You gulped. This information didn’t come as much of a shock, considering what you knew about Tate Langdon, though you didn’t like the fact that the pair of you were now stuck living with men who may be resentful enough to punish your brother for his father’s crimes. “Michael has nothing to do with him.” You said firmly.

“Really?” He cocked his head to the side. “Either way, I must get around to thanking Michael - that damn dog had been digging around our vegetable garden for weeks.”

“Leave him alone.” You commanded through tight lips, barely unclenching your jaw.

“I don’t see how we can, now that we’re all roommates. He’s just a few doors down right now, honing his craft.”

You hesitated before stalking out of the room, bracing for any acts of violence the two men might try to commit in the name of revenge; you most certainly did not want to spend eternity living in this hellhole. Thankfully, they let you pass, though you were unnerved to hear them begin trailing behind you.

You strode down the basement hallway, following the faint sound of metal clangs. You threw open the door of origin and gasped louder than ever before. 

Michael killing animals came as no surprise. Michael having the capability to kill other human beings was something you’d recently had to come to terms with. But to see him shamelessly mutilating someone in such a fashion… you shuddered violently. You could only take solace in the fact that the woman lying on the table was clearly a ghost; Elizabeth Short, a.k.a the Black Dahlia, who some claimed had died in this awful house. Apparently, the disturbing rumours were true.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He turned to you, looking a villain in his old-fashioned surgery garb; a thick linen gown, cap, and mask, topped off with large black gloves which stretched up the length of his forearms. He pulled his mask down to reveal a cherubically innocent smile, clearly having no idea what he was doing. “He’s teaching me.”

You looked to the spirit beside him, Dr. Montgomery. “Teaching you - what? How to cut up bodies?!”

Elizabeth craned her neck to address you from her horizontal position, her body, clothed only in vintage undergarments, already cut in half. Her intestines sat collected on a mayo stand while her blood poured down into a metal bucket through a drain in the table. She shrugged with a wistful smile, saying, “The things you have to do to be famous...”

“We are not simply ‘cutting up bodies’, Miss.” The doctor reprimanded, “We have bisected her at the waist, removed the intestines, and are in the process of draining every last drop of blood. Such a procedure takes great skill. You should be proud of your brother’s efforts - he is making great progress.”

The implications of the word “progress” made you shiver - how long had he been under this maniac’s tutelage?

Chad and Patrick sniggered behind you, the former remarking, “Like father, like son.”

Michael’s face contorted in confusion. He barely knew anything about his father, only that he was Constance’s son. You turned, throwing a rather insecure warning glance at Chad - it would be preferable if Michael remained uneducated on the topic of ‘Langdon, Sr.’.

Outrage turned into disappointment as you made your way back to your bedroom, the aged floors creaking under your speedy footsteps.

You’d held out genuine hope that your brother’s morbid urges were subsiding - his episodes had grown fewer and farther between, thanks to the free therapy he now received a total of five days a week, courtesy of Ben. The few times he’d relapsed, it had been with something as minor as a mouse or a bird.

Maintaining a degree of normalcy in Michael’s life was not an easy task to be assigned, and there were three main reasons you considered as to why you kept failing at it.

First: You felt uncomfortable whenever you tried telling him what to do; you’d been raised to follow orders, not to give them.

Second: You would always remember the times when Constance went “too far” and he responded by physically attacking her. You didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night to the feeling of his hands clamped down on your windpipe.

Third: You were tired. He wasn’t a child anymore, and he should be learning to take care of himself, to follow his own path in life - you couldn’t take care of him forever. If he was so desperate to wallow in blood and gore, maybe he could work to become an actual doctor, studying at a respectable medical school rather than in the basement of the infamous Murder House.

You brought one hand up, thumb and index finger massaging your temples. You didn’t want to think right now, didn’t want to feel, so you went into the bathroom and peeled off your clothes.

Once you were completely nude, you went over to the mirror and examined yourself, noting each aspect of your body that you liked as well as each aspect you despised.

Suddenly, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You gathered yourself, preparing to turn and face some miserable, resentful specter. Maybe one of the nurses, as they usually appeared in or around the bathrooms, or perhaps it was Chad, anxious to rub your nose in your twin’s flaws all while you stood naked and vulnerable. White-knuckling the edge of the sink, you turned your head to meet whatever ghastly spirit awaited. 

What you saw instead was far more horrifying. Your brother stood in the doorway, gazing at your naked form in wide-eyed fascination. It took him several seconds to drag his eyes up to meet yours. Shock subsiding, you whipped around to grab a towel to cover yourself with.

“Don’t.” Michael said, and for whatever reason, you complied with his instruction. You shivered as you registered that, through your attempt at modesty, you’d now completely exposed your front, whereas your previous position had only allowed him a view of your side. His eyes travelled up and down your body, focusing on your breasts and groin. Occasionally they’d flicker up to gauge your reaction; a dumb, slack-jawed stare.

You were beyond embarrassed. You had been acting like a fool in front of the mirror, twisting and turning, poking and prodding, and now someone was bearing witness to every single one of the flaws you’d just condemned. You grew disturbed when you realized that Michael was the last person you wanted to see them; not because he was your brother, but because you felt like you were disappointing him somehow.

But it didn’t seem as if you were disappointing him. The look in his eye seemed to express a deep yearning, which - though you hated to admit it - was reciprocated.

He slowly began to move forward, his gaze fixed on your face. You’d begun to shiver by the time he stood no more than a foot away.

He softly placed a hand on your waist, breaking the almost unbearable silence. “When was the last time I saw you like this?”

Long before either of you had undergone puberty, thankfully. Though you supposed it didn’t really matter anymore - the two of you would now be plagued by this troubling encounter til the day you died. “M-Michael...”

He brought his free hand to rest on the side of your head, brushing his fingers through your hair. He then slid his hand up your side, awkwardly cupping your breast. Your skin erupted in goosebumps.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” Michael asked, eerily calm.

The question caught you off guard. You began to feel a small sliver of worry as the image of the Dahlia flashed through your mind, and you wondered if he saw your body as yet another opportunity for destruction. Though you tried to reassure yourself that this notion was ridiculous, your voice still came out as a shaky whisper. “What?”

“Everyone else does.”

“Well… fuck ’em.” You said, trying to raise your voice in order to validate your statement. “You’re not a monster, Michael, you’re just... confused - and you’re going to get better, working with Ben.” You had to keep that hope alive.

He stared deep into your eyes, uncertain, almost as if he were trying to decipher whether or not you truly believed the words you were saying. 

He wet his lips before leaning forward to kiss you.

A million thoughts flew throughout your mind. You thought of how wrong this was, what the other residents would do or say if they found out, and how heavily this would affect your sibling relationship.

Your lips met, and you realized that this single peck would serve as a twisted stamp of approval for all of the inappropriate touching you’d just engaged in.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Getting over the initial shock, you brought your free hand to rest on Michael’s cheek. He placed one hand on the back of your neck and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. 

Your mouths moved together in fluent, eager motions, and he walked you backwards, pressing you up against the wall. You gripped onto his arms as he leaned to nip at your throat, kneading your breasts.

After a while, he pulled back, his eyes remaining closed for a moment before sneaking a peek at you. You saw his muscles relax as he clocked the entranced look on your face, and a charming, lopsided grin enveloped his features as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you, (Y/N).” He sounded certain - adult - for the first time in his life.

You gave a small, flushed smile in return. “I love you too, Michael.”

He then tentatively reached down to touch your sex.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait! I usually upload the chapters between 5-10 days of each other.
> 
> Let me know if I missed something while editing, and please let me know what you think of the flashback!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is made in the Council's secretive investigation. You and Michael have a confrontation.

You texted Cordelia that you were on your way as you made your way down the hall. When you arrived, you saw that the door had been left open a crack, allowing you to enter the room as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. 

You saw your Supreme facing the mirror, her reflection looking back at you with a pained expression. She held up her floral blouse, revealing a patch of rough, eczema-like skin, pale grey in color. Myrtle stood by her side, a gentle hand placed on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. You couldn’t help the look of concerned surprise that passed over your face, though you’d wanted to appear unfazed.

“(Y/N),” Cordelia said, her voice somewhat strained.

Having no idea what to do, you simply acknowledged her greeting. “Cordelia… Myrtle…”

She hadn’t dropped her blouse the moment you entered; instead, she kept inspecting the affliction unabashedly - courageously. After a few moments passed, She moved to sit on one of the elegant white couches in her sitting area, you and Myrtle trailing behind. “You had another vision.”

Unfortunately so. Each memory you dug up seemed more painful than the last, all of them having to do with your brother and the stretch of time you two’d spent living in that godforsaken house. Last night had been no different, though there was the added embarrassment of slowly waking to a hazy image of Myrtle placing a towel over your wet, naked body, as you had apparently collapsed onto the bathroom floor. “Um, yes.” You swallowed.

Cordelia’s concern shifted entirely to you. “How are you feeling?”

“I just - I’m fine. A little freaked out.” You wanted to ask her how she was feeling, though you felt that might be inappropriate, given that you’d clearly walked in on something you weren’t supposed to see.

“What did you see?”

You swallowed nervously as you haphazardly threw together a response, though you’d known they were going to ask this question - it was the sole reason you’d been invited to join them. “Just some… stuff. Stuff from my childhood. It wasn’t all that bad, just tiring, I guess.”

“(Y/N),” Myrtle interjected, her voice tinged with urgency, “Your eyes were black as obsidian when I found you - iris and all.”

“What?” The room suddenly seemed to grow hot.

Cordelia spoke up. “Myrtle said you were on edge as she walked you back to your room. Do you remember that?”

You rolled your lips, eyes focused to the floor in concentration as you tried and failed to remember any such feeling. “I remember waking up and seeing Myrtle, and walking down the hall, but I don’t remember feeling any particular way.”

The two women exchanged glances, and you began to feel as though you were being interrogated rather than conversed with. You supposed you could understand Myrtle’s state of discomfort, as you didn’t know how you would’ve reacted to such a ghastly sight. “Well,” Cordelia exhaled, “I suppose this is a sign your powers are growing. Progress often comes at a price.”

So you’d heard. Once upon a time, the Supreme had been left blind after an acid attack, acquiring the power of clairvoyance. Having healed, her gift was lost, so she stuck a boxcutter through her eyes. Still, imagining your own eyes, black from corner to corner… your heart began to race, which only served to make you feel like a coward; it was so superficial. You tried to chalk up your sense of unease to simply being surprised, as that had never happened before - at least, not as far as anyone had told you.

“I guess.” Your lips repeatedly sealed and unsealed as you decided whether or not to ask, “Is everything okay?”

Cordelia sighed, looking down at her lap momentarily before meeting your gaze. “I’m sure you’re aware of what happens when a new Supreme rises.”

You nodded, regretting having asked - you should have remembered.

“Cordelia and I were just talking about the rising Supreme.” Myrtle looked to Cordelia, seeking some sort of permission - disingenuously, of course, because not a split second later her red mane bobbed through the air as she turned to face you once more. “We don’t believe it’s Michael.”

“Myrtle!” Cordelia exclaimed, proceeding to squeeze her eyes shut and sigh in frustration. “She loves to speak for others.” She side-eyed the woman next to her, who seemed completely unfazed by her friend’s comment; it was as if she were so convinced by the truth of her statement that it was unfathomable to think Cordelia might’ve believed otherwise.

Cordelia continued, “Please don’t pay her any mind - and please don’t mention what she said to anyone.” She seemed almost too tired to bring herself to be stressed.

“I won’t, I promise.” You said, though you felt desperate to. So many secrets, concerning Michael, the Council, and now these two - you felt you would become so strung-out that you’d end up telling the wrong person the wrong thing at the wrong time, thus damning yourself and others. 

You politely excused yourself and made your way down to the breakfast buffet, having just slid in line when you felt someone sidle up to you so quickly that a gust of air ran over your side. You were addressed by a quiet, irritatingly jovial voice. “Good morning.”

You were now unwillingly transferred to the next secretive encounter of the day. “Michael.” You said in greeting, your voice more formal than necessary so as to keep your familiarity undetected.

You turned slightly, taking in the sight of him, though avoiding eye contact. He was far too close for comfort, considering the public setting. To your dismay - though not to your surprise - he decided to begin a conversation. “How’s life?”

“Fine.” Short but sweet - no indications of a relationship of any kind.

“I’m kind of tired. I had some crazy dreams last night.”

Your head whipped to the side, mouth opening involuntarily as you wondered if he was referencing your own dream of sorts. Either way, you needed to make it appear as though his words were nothing more than a taunt to you; you needed to at least attempt to keep the reason behind your distress a secret. You relaxed your tense expression, giving a small yet annoyed smile. “How nice for you.”

He lowered his voice. “Oh please, (Y/N),” he leaned in, protecting your privacy while simultaneously making you squirm, “I can tell the difference between when you’re avoiding and when you’re genuinely distracted.” His brows knit together, creating an expression which seemed to be comprised of both mock and authentic concern. “What’s going on?”

It seemed that Michael didn’t, in fact, know about your powers - at least not about their sudden spike in vigor. You began to breathe a sigh of relief, but stifled yourself in favor of appearing as blasé as possible, instead setting your lips into a straight line. “I thought you’d know by now that I don’t particularly love living with you.”

You regretted the harsh words as soon as they’d left your mouth. Judging by the icy glare he was currently giving you, they’d cut deep. He didn’t have time to respond, though, as a loud thud sounded behind you, drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes shifted as you turned to see Coco splayed out on the floor, convulsing… choking.

“Oh my God!” You shouted as you rushed to kneel at her side, trying to turn her onto her front before she went completely limp in your arms, losing consciousness. You just stared down in shock, seeing dozens of motionless, useless feet in your periphery. Coming to your senses, you jerked your head over your shoulder, yelling, “Michael! Help!” As much as you were loathe to so openly address him in full view of others, nothing else mattered in that moment; It was a matter of life and death - specifically, that of your best friend’s.

He stared down, his expressionless gaze meeting yours - wide and wild; horrified that he wasn’t yet providing any aid.

Mallory seemed to appear out of nowhere, kneeling down over Coco’s near-lifeless body, hovering her index finger over her exposed neck. Coco’s throat opened up, and Mallory immediately dug into the pink flesh, finding and extracting the piece of food caught in her gullet. Mallory then sealed the wound with a mere flick of her finger.

Coco shot up gasping, and as she began to scramble about in confused panic, you held her still, knowing she needed to conserve her energy in order to recover. “Hey,” You soothed, taking her hand in yours, “It’s okay - you’re okay.” Mallory gave her friend’s arm a reassuring squeeze as a smile broke out across her face; she had just saved a life, discovering a new and breathtaking power in the process.

“Goodness gracious,” Miriam Mead’s voice rang out, approaching the scene. “What happened?” You raised your head to address the older woman, only then realizing how labored your own breaths were. Swallowing, you managed, “Coco choked, but Mallory - she helped her.” You looked to Coco, grinning as you saw a dazed smile light up her face as she slowly became fully cognitive of her surroundings. “She’s fine now.”

The older woman rushed over, and the trio of you helped Coco to her feet. As you stood, you saw Michael making a poor attempt to conceal irritation, his eyes settling on Miriam in a look of quiet communication. You told yourself you would ponder this odd interaction later, as right now you needed to see to Coco’s health.

“Don’t be late for class, kids!” Miriam yelled over her shoulder, the three of you moving to escort Coco to the infirmary; once the blonde was settled onto one of many pristine white medical beds, the chief of staff announced that she was off to retrieve Cordelia.

“Am I gonna die?” Coco asked.

You chuckled at how she could ask such a morbid question in such a casual tone. Clearly, she was still experiencing some of the consequences of a lack of oxygen to the brain. “No, you’re not gonna die.”

You turned to Mallory - your impressed wonder plain to hear as you asked, “What was that?”

Looking up from under her lashes, she seemed almost embarrassed to respond. Perhaps she was left feeling uncomfortable due to the sheer amount of eyes that’d fixed themselves upon her after her incredible feat. Some witches had hesitated to leave the dining room even after Miriam had instructed them to do so, no doubt wishing to gawk just a little while longer. “I don’t know. I just… helped her.”

Cordelia rushed into the room, accompanied by, of course, Myrtle, who was determinedly tapping away at her phone. “How are you, Coco?”

“Tired.” She said, closing her eyes.

Madison strutted in, calling across the room in a sneer as she held up her phone. “Why the hell do I need to be here?” It was less a question than it was a careless expression of annoyance.

Cordelia hardened her eyes, looking to the door behind her to make sure it had shut completely before she spoke in hushed exasperation. “Madison, could you please be quiet? We have to be careful.”

The petite blonde simply rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“What happened, exactly?” Myrtle inquired.

You looked to Mallory, encouraging her to tell the tale. Throughout her recounting of events, everyone widened their eyes, furrowed their brows, and exchanged perplexed glances, standing around a sleeping Coco.

Myrtle spoke. “I’ve never heard of such a power.” She gave a quick smile to Mallory before turning towards her companion. “Have you, Delia?” The redhead was clearly trying to prove her point from earlier, as well as deliver it to a broader audience. She didn’t just reject Michael as heir to the Supremacy - she already had another candidate in line.

So what was he, if not the Supreme elect?

Cordelia, clearly aware of Myrtle’s prodding techniques, addressed Mallory instead. “Mallory, over the past week or so, have you been feeling stronger, as a witch?”

She blinked, eyes wide and voice small. “Kind of.” She shrugged. “I mean, it just feels… like an energy - it feels warm.”

Cordelia nodded, looking relieved, yet somewhat solemn. She looked between her and her mentor, whose face was lit up in delight. “Myrtle believes that, rather than Michael, you are the next Supreme.”

Your heart was thrumming in your chest as you stared at the plain sheet drawn over Coco’s body. What would this mean for your brother?

Mallory swallowed. “I don’t get it; he already passed the Seven Wonders.”

Cordelia walked away from the bed, beginning a slow pace around the room. “I’ve been wondering if, for the first time in history, the warlocks will have their very own Supreme.”

You weren’t sure how to feel about that possibility - would it be a negative or a positive for you witches? On one hand, it would bring back the isolation of the two Covens, leaving you all to relax under the promise of female governance. On the other, it was not impossible to believe that the warlocks might take up arms against you after years of being considered second-class citizens, beginning a feud similar to that which once raged between the witches and the Voodoo practitioners of New Orleans.

Myrtle took a drag of her vape. “Oh Delia, surely you don’t believe that nonsense. I now hesitate to believe Michael is a warlock at all.”

Cordelia raised her eyebrows in faux-disbelief, speaking to her mentor as one would an exhausting child. “Myrtle, we are in the infirmary - could you please not smoke in here?”

The redhead only waved her hand in casual dismissal, passing a thick cloud of smoke through her stiffened lips.

Madison tilted her head to the side in an exaggerated fashion, mocking her senior’s suspicion. “If he’s not a warlock, then what the hell is he, Firecrotch?”

Glares were exchanged. “An arrogant boy, whose magic is dark and volatile; a threat to our Coven.”

It seemed the blonde was all too eager to disprove any theory that Myrtle might come up with, sensical or not. “If he’s a threat to our Coven, why the hell would he try to run it?”

She gave Madison the once-over. “You must've hit your head tripping over those horribly garish shoes,” Madison threw up her middle finger, which was promptly ignored as Myrtle continued, “He may be trying to destroy us from the inside out, like a cancer.”

Mallory spoke up in her quiet, husky voice. “If that’s true, would the warlocks know?”

“Perhaps. Though I don’t suppose their aid would make much of a difference; their powers equate to the ability to pull a rabbit out of a hat in comparison to ours.”

Cordelia interjected. “If they do know, then we can be sure they had a hand in John Henry’s disappearance.”

You usually tried to remain as silent as possible throughout these meetings, saying just enough to avoid giving off an air of uncomfortability, and even speaking those few words proved difficult as those around you constantly questioned your brother’s intentions.

Unfortunately you now felt compelled to raise a valid, though perhaps condemning, question. You considered how John Henry had gone missing mere days after his arrival, and how Myrtle’d suggested that he was not overly fond of Michael. If Michael played a part in his disappearance, which you were beginning to suspect due to his odd behavior - forced denial only lasting so long - then how would he react to your sister witch’s extraordinary achievement in the dining room? “What about Mallory?”

Myrtle looked at you and tilted her head to the side, her hair catching a ray of sunlight, making her already bright shade of red seem as if it were on fire. “Whatever do you mean?”

“If he… did something to John Henry, just because he wasn’t a fan, wouldn’t he see Mallory as a threat after what just happened with Coco?”

Cordelia’s eyes widened, looking over to the young woman in question. “It’s possible that Myrtle’s right; you could be the next Supreme.”

Myrtle, despite the dangerous implications this revelation had, seemed overjoyed to have her longstanding doubts about your twin confirmed, an unabashed smile spreading across her face as she raised her head up, eyes closed in indulgent bliss.

Mallory, however, didn’t seem too eager to assume the burden of such a role - a burden which was intensified by the crossroads the Coven was approaching. “I… wouldn’t it be Zoe, or Queenie? They’ve been here way longer than me.”

Madison dropped her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “Um, hello?”

Mallory looked embarrassed, averting her gaze as she shifted her weight from side to side.

“Experience means almost nothing in the case of Supreme; you either are or you aren’t.” Cordelia spoke in a delicate voice, seeming to understand Mallory’s nerves.

“Delia, we must send her away at once, for her own safety.”

“No.” Everyone was taken aback by her swift and stern refusal. “We cannot do anything to arouse suspicion, not now. And if her powers are growing,” She looked to her potential successor, “We need her now more than ever.”

Unsure of her own opinion on the matter - or if it was even of any value - Mallory remained silent, fiddling with the silver starburst necklace hanging down the front of her black dress.

The Supreme turned to you, asking, “You said you’ve been practicing. Do you think you’d be able to see into someone else’s past?” She asked with slightly unsettling urgency. Her eyes were dry, but the desperation within them made you fear tears were on the way. You did not want to be responsible for tears. “Yes.”

Everyone stood in silence. It seemed they were either waiting for you to transition into a full-blown vision or for you to explain the reason behind your sudden expression of confidence, which you’d previously been lacking in regard to your powers.

The reason behind it was what you’d been trying to deny - the visions had increased ever since Michael had invaded your home, the sanctuary you’d sought in order to shut away everything from your past, most notably him. Of course, you couldn’t let those around you know of your complex relationship with Michael, so you would have to phrase this as generally as possible in order to keep your secret without technically lying.

You sucked in your lips for a moment before giving an offensively vague explanation. “I mean, I could try. I think the chant you gave me’s been helping a lot, and maybe even the warlocks moving in.”

You were walking a tightrope. On one hand, you didn’t want to assist in incriminating your brother. On the other, you couldn’t risk the safety of the entire Coven out of your damnable love for him, for someone you knew to be capable of murder - though that was under completely different circumstances You continued, now nervously switching your gaze between Cordelia and the bare wooden floor. “It’s being closer to them. Obviously, John Henry’s not here, but if I could go through some of his things, I could try to see what happened.”

Madison furrowed her brows. “So you’ve seen into some of the warlocks’ pasts?”

It felt as though your body temperature suddenly shot up ten degrees. You felt sweat beginning to dampen your clothing. “No - I mean, yes, small things. Boring stuff, like what I used to see.”

She seemed willing to believe this, though not eager. She tilted her head back in acknowledgement, the smallest hint of suspicion still lingering in her eyes.

Myrtle circled round the bed, moving closer to you. “We’ve left John Henry’s room the same as he did. Come, dear. We must be quick about this.”

Myrtle closed the door as you circled around the abandoned bedroom, trying to identify the object you’d suppose would hold the most meaning to its owner. You went over to a leather box on the desk, opening it to reveal a collection of jewelry, consisting of many expensive metals and jewels which you could never hope to afford. One item in particular caught your eye; a necklace of sterling silver, its square pendant consisting of many small crosses encircling a black, oval-shaped jewel. It seemed to be an antique; its exact age you couldn’t guess, though you hoped it was a family heirloom, for the sake of your mission.

You held it up to Myrtle, and she gave a nod of approval. You went to sit on the bed, feeling your supervisor’s eyes on you. “Seminare intellectum scientiae virtutem spei. Illud quod oculis videre non possumus, ad incrementum.”

The room began to blur, and you lost consciousness before falling back onto the mattress. 

A reddish-purple scarf under harsh fluorescent lights. A gasoline pump being inserted into a black car. John Henry’s lifeless body covered in gasoline, as well as a heavy peppering of grey powder. Fire doing away with his flesh.

Your eyes shot open as you squirmed around on the bed, trying to ground yourself through your surroundings. The click-clack of Myrtle’s expensive shoes grew louder as she rushed over to you, grabbing ahold of your hand. “My dear, what did you see?”

Words flew out of your mouth at the speed of sound.

____

A few days had passed since your breakthrough vision, in which the Council scrambled to identify the scene of the crime, which you’d given an unfortunately vague description of. Little to no progress had been made trying to track down any news articles detailing such an assault, and your sister witches had resorted to sneaking out of the house to investigate the numerous gas stations in the area.

You were making your way back from the bathroom in the dead of night, tired yet avoiding sleep. You froze when you heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by footsteps making their way towards the stairs. You stayed right where you were, on edge, yet curious to see who was entering the house at this hour. A part of you foolishly hoped it would be John Henry, putting an end to all pressures and speculations - well, to most of them.

Your brow furrowed as you saw your brother’s head begin to appear as he neared the top of the stairs. His face held an indiscernible expression. 

Michael was about to turn towards the warlock’s wing when he saw you, his eyes widening in defensive surprise. He walked towards you, and you instinctively stepped back, confused as to what he was doing. Your brother snorted, continuing on his path until he stood too close to you. “What are you doing up?”

Your kept your face composed, ignoring your nerves. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He looked you up and down, raising his eyebrows in mocking suspicion as he noticed you were still in your daywear. You tried to distract him. “I could ask you the same thing. Where were you?”

Smiling, he suddenly grabbed you by your forearm and began dragging you down the hallway. You stumbled to keep up with him, swatting at his hand, though you remained silent out of fear of attracting attention. You felt hollow with anxiety, fearing he had suspicions of his own.

He pushed you into what you assumed was his bedroom. It looked much the same as everyone else’s, though you noted the absence of a bunkmate. Of course he got his own room.

As soon as he closed the door behind you, you let out a hissed, “What the hell are you doing?”

He came closer, firmly caressing the side of your head, grasping at the roots out your hair. He stared at your lips with hooded eyes, saying, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

The biting scent of liquor hit you straight in the face, making you grimace. You pressed your hands up against his chest, stopping him as he leaned forward to kiss you. “Are you - are you drunk?”

He let go of your hair, turning and circling around the room, his movements loose and careless. His back to you, he asked, “So what if I am?”

Relief slowly wash over you as you realized this aggressive confrontation wasn’t prompted by your dealings with the Council. This was him expressing a more chaotic sense of anger; this was something personal. 

His drunkenness was surprising, as when the two of you were younger, he had never once experimented with anything. As his face momentarily came back into your line of sight, you snapped your head forward in bewilderment, voice stern as you spoke. “ ‘So what if’ - are you fucking serious? We have class tomorrow! You’re kind of a big deal around here, in case you haven’t noticed - everyone’ll see how hungover you are!” You wanted so badly to knock some sense into him.

Your brother whirled towards you. “You have no idea the pressure I’m under, do you?”

Your heart sank a little. You hadn’t really considered the burden he might carry, how anxiety-inducing the role of heir may be. Hell, Mallory had quivered at the very prospect. Your eyes softened and you reached out to grab his hand, a gesture which seemed to surprise him. “I’m sorry… I mean, I know it’s probably been hard to adjust.”

Michael seemed confused for a moment, then ripped his hand away from you, chuckling bitterly. “No idea...”

He grabbed you by your throat, and your eyes widened at his hostility, hands flying up to grip onto his arm. He wrenched your face closer to his, dry breath hitting you once more. “You know, I think it’s time you pay me back.”

You wondered if he could feel your pulse hammering away under your skin. “Pay you back?” You asked, narrowing your eyes in a display of confusion, though you had an idea as to where this was going.

He breathed a laugh, and you closed your eyes, trying in vain to pull his arms off of you. He wrapped one around your waist, pulling you closer. “You know what I’m taking about. I made you come - you should return the favor.” 

He moved his hands to press you down by your shoulders, and you finally managed to yank yourself out of his grasp. “Michael, we can’t do this anymore.”

His eyes were venomous as he spat out a, “What?”

You clenched and unclenched your jaw, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact with your brother. “None of that shit would’ve happened if we’d been free to be normal teenagers.”

A dismissive, irritated smile spread across his lips. “Well, we weren’t. So here we are.”

“We shouldn’t-”

Michael wrenched you towards him. “No, we shouldn’t. But we want to. Don’t you fucking lie to yourself.”

There was a notable pause before you responded. “You are such an asshole.” 

Chest to chest, you looked into his eyes. Again, you saw sadness - the sadness the two of you shared, and the sadness that you’d caused him. You also saw anger.

After a moment, he kissed you forcefully, his sour breath - along with how badly you felt for wanting him - making you wince. You couldn’t help yourself; you kissed him back, with much more passion than you’d exhibited the night of his test. He moved one arm to wrap around your waist and the other to palm at your breast.

He walked backwards a short ways, still embracing you, and moved his hands to push you down to your knees as he settled himself on the side of his bed, facing no more resistance.

You adjusted your knees on the hardwood floor, thinking of the bruises you’d have by the time this was over. You looked down at them, not wanting to acknowledge what was to come as you heard a belt coming undone and a zipper being pulled down. Michael grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to face his erection.

You’d never done this. Sure, you’d touched each other in other ways, but this… you felt like you were passing the point of no return, made all the more frightening by the madness surrounding you, surrounding him, which you hoped he knew nothing about.

Michael used his free hand to grab his cock and rub it up against your cheek before pressing it against your lips, coating them with his precum. Fighting the urge to pull back onto your calves, you slowly opened your mouth for him, and he pushed himself inside you, letting out a hiss of pleasure.

Hesitantly, you brought your tongue to press up against his shaft as you rested your hands on his knees. You pulled back and licked at his tip, earning a moan from him. You continued to lick up and down before pausing a moment, involuntarily taking in the obscene absurdity of the situation. This seemed to displease him, as he firmly pulled one of your hands off of his leg and directed it towards his base. Your shaky fingers encircled him.

Soon enough he seemed to break, tightening his grip in your hair, grabbing at the roots, and shoving your face nearly down to his hilt.

You gagged, throwing your hands up to his thighs instinctively, bracing yourself from his force as well as you could. He chuckled. “Looks like I’m gonna have to pick up your slack.”

‘Like I’ve always had to pick up yours,’ you wanted to say, though unfortunately your mouth was preoccupied.

Michael pulled you up and down his length, his hold on your hair becoming almost painful. Tears leaked out of your eyes, saliva began to spill out of your enflamed lips. Your choking didn’t seem to elicit any sympathy; you looked up to see his eyes squeezed shut, his rigid jaw unclenching as he said, “So… good… ” in a strained voice.

He looked down at you, narrowing his eyes. “Suck on it.” He commanded.

You’d already been doing so - if only to prevent a full flood of drool from dripping down your chin - though you supposed he wanted more. Already flushed cheeks grew even redder as you tightened your lips around him. His moans multiplied as he began to thrust into you, the jerks growing exponentially more forceful as he neared his finish. You dug your nails into his thighs.

“Fuck… take it… ” He was animalistic now, his tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag. Suddenly your brother emitted a long, low groan, his hands shaking as he came inside your mouth, cock twitching. After a few seconds he slowed down, giving a few separated thrusts accompanied by shallow breaths.

He then pulled your head off of his length. You had to steady yourself by casting one hand down onto the ground beside you. You started to get up, breathing heavily through your nose, looking for a cup, or even some tissues. Michael kept you on your knees by leaning down and grabbing your jaw, pressing his thumb up against your lips. “Swallow it.”

You gave him a look of resentment, but obeyed, wincing as you swallowed his hot, sticky seed. He let you go, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt as you took a minute to even your breathing.

“You should get some sleep.” He said in an even tone, reaching for the computer on his nightstand.

You shut your eyes in disappointment, resentment, and shame, before getting up and shakily walking towards the door. Before you turned the handle, you looked back at him. “Michael,” He looked up at you, his face as reserved as his voice had been. You continued nonetheless. “...I love you.”

He looked away, his eyes obscured from your vision as his voice finally betrayed some feeling: pain. He fought to suppress it. “Good.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you made your way to your bedroom, hoping your roommate was asleep. It felt as though everything was going wrong. Michael had once again taken over your life, and you weren’t sure you had it in you to run anymore.

Your relationship with your brother was now even more fucked up than it had been before. You’d gone behind his back, pseudo-conspiring to charge him with the murder of John Henry, a crime which you were desperate to believe he was innocent of. Whether or not he was, there was chance enough he would find out about your suspicions - the Council's suspicions.

And if he did, all bets were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real Chapter Seven, posted twelve days later than promised because I'm trash. Really sorry.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! And please tell me if I missed something while editing.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and the Council go out looking for evidence in John Henry's assassination.

The midnight drive was long and strenuous. You sat sandwiched between Mallory and Coco, the latter of which you had finally suggested to your Supreme as a potential addition to the Council. After all, she had been the most vehement protester of the warlock presence, save for Myrtle. You had been considering putting in a word for her almost the entire time you’d been a member, but you’d feared for her safety. Now that it seemed likely that every outspoken witch or warlock was at risk, you felt it only right to let her in on the miserable experience.

Perhaps “miserable” wasn’t exactly how you should describe the situation at hand - “frightening” would be more accurate. You wanted nothing to come of this, wanted no conclusion as to what happened to John Henry - though you supposed that could lead to everlasting suspense. The ideal outcome would be if some petty criminal were responsible for his disappearance.

Madison sighed, flicking her lighter shut as Cordelia forbade her from smoking in the car. “This blows - we’re not even within city limits anymore.”

Myrtle was equally as disappointed as Madison, as she was also instructed to put her vape away, saving those of you in the backseat from being blinded by the concentration. “No, but we mustn’t give up just yet. This is a matter of life and death.”

“Maybe for John Henry.”

Queenie rolled her eyes, looking back from the drivers seat for a moment to address her pseudo-rival. “You know, your ass is gonna get kicked all the way back to hell if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.”

Madison gave a piqued smile. “Calm down Precious; I’m just saying, this could have nothing to do with us. What if he was just into some shady shit we didn’t know about? I’ve had one or two dealers come after me before.”

The Supreme strained her neck back to silently reprimand the two girls for their bickering, then locked eyes with Madison, trying to control the vexation in her voice. “If that were the case, we would still be obliged to do everything in our power to bring him back. He’s one of us.”

“Unfortunately.” Myrtle deadpanned as the car rolled to a stop.

As everyone streamed out of the vehicle, Cordelia put herself in the way, halting her Council. She was clearly angry, a state you didn’t often see her in. “You all need to stop whining and start caring. I know we’ve never gotten along with the warlocks - Christ, we suspect one of committing murder - but a threat to them is a threat to us. Don’t let yourself believe that witches are treated the same outside the walls of Robichaux’s as they are within.”

That shut everyone up.

So many thoughts concerning John Henry’s potential revival swirled around in your head that you feared you might pass out. One: Mallory had been tested on six of the seven wonders today (off-campus, of course) - If she were to succeed in bringing him back, that would mean she was the true Supreme Elect. Two: if John Henry knew who his killer was, or what they looked like, there was a possibility that whoever attacked him would be revealed to be linked to the Coven. Three: the consequences of inflicting grievous bodily harm on a fellow witch or warlock was death by fire.

As you all stood under the harsh lighting of the neglected gas station, you began to notice small particulars that looked familiar, making your airways constrict. Cordelia clasped Queenie’s hand and leaned against her for support, saying, “There’s a dark power here; violent, and… proud.” She looked to you, nodding in thanks. You appreciated the gesture while simultaneously recoiling from it - you didn’t want any part in this, nor had you for quite some time. Joining the Council had made everything go from bad to worse.

Zoe closed her eyes in concentration and held her palms horizontal to the ground. You, of course, had no clue as to what she was doing, until you saw a small pile of dust begin to rush into formation at her feet, on display for the whole semicircle of you. She relaxed her tense form, turning to Cordelia. “It’s John Henry.”

A pressure began to rise in your chest, worsening as smoke escaped Myrtle’s lips and infiltrated your lungs. “I remember him being taller.” She remarked, seeming to have paid no real mind to Cordelia’s recent speech.

“Mallory,” Cordelia spoke, breath still shallow as a result of the energy shock, “Use your powers to bring John Henry back to us.”

The honey blonde stepped forward, unsure. Her expression betrayed a solemnity you could very much relate to, though you hadn’t thought to expect the feeling from her. Was she simply nervous at the prospect of failing the final test? She was the most powerful witch in your Coven, apart from the current Supreme. What made you nervous was her inevitable success. She stepped forward, raising her hands just as Zoe did, though she crouched to the ground to more directly transmit her power.

She leaned back as the ashes caught fire, a vaguely human figure slowly evolving into the fully recovered form of John Henry. His eyes were wide with panic as he gasped for air so intensely that he momentarily choked on his own saliva. She didn’t simply bring him back, she had reversed the damage done to him, or so the unexpected flames suggested.

The unique manner in which she had performed this Vitalum Vitalis reminded you of how Michael had performed Pyrokinesis. He had pressed a sharp blade deep into the palm of his hand, letting the blood drip down onto a small flame, causing a quick burst of fire to shoot outwards towards the joint Council, to the point where many almost fell out of your seats for fear of catching fire.

The coughing continued, dry and harsh. He seemed to become so lightheaded that he collapsed against Mallory, almost knocking her over, though you managed to grab ahold of his arm. Funnily enough, he felt cold… it seeped through his expensive black suit. You supposed his inner workings needed a moment to process the fact that they still served a purpose.

“Need-” John Henry barely managed to get out, “-Out of here…”

You and Mallory shuffled him back to the van as fast as possible, his dry puffs of air tussling your hair. Though eager to return to the Academy, the rest of the witches tried to match your slow pace so as to reassure John Henry that he would not be left behind, that he was safe. Once inside, Madison swiftly reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a flask, shoving it in front of his face. The hard liquor, biting as it was, still served to soothe his desertous throat, though by his third swig it became apparent that he was using it for more than just medicinal purposes.

Cordelia no doubt wanted to be tactful, but knew that it was imperative to get as many answers out of him before arriving back at the house - especially since, by your estimation, the travel time would be cut in half due to Queenie's sudden decision to ignore the speed limit.

“John Henry,” her tone was urgent yet calm, trying her best not to overwhelm him. “I know how horrible you must be feeling, but I need you to tell me what you remember about the night you died.”

He only nodded, staring at the floor of the car.

John Henry was slow to begin. “What I’ve seen,” He gulped, “What I’ve learned - it’s a matter of life and death.” Yes, that had been made clear. As he took another drink, your eyes flickered over to Madison’s, who seemed willing to tame her irritation given what he had been through. It was somewhat refreshing to see her expressing a small hint of empathy, as she was so often cold to the point where most assumed her to possess no human emotion at all. Having died herself - multiple times, in fact - you imagined it was only natural for her icy exterior to thaw at such a stark reminder of her own trauma.

Cordelia continued her investigation. “Who killed you? Was it someone you knew?”

He shook his head. “Two women. One of them - she works for you. The…” He could not seem to remember her position. “Miriam something.”

Shocked glances were exchanged throughout the car. Coco’s mouth dropped open as true, hurtful disappointment took over her face - she’d known Miriam better than most of your peers, developing a pleasant acquaintanceship with her during her time of helping her determine which foods were safe to serve the students with gluten allergies.

“And the other?”

“I couldn’t say. She was black, thin. I didn’t get a good look at her. She blew… talcum powder, or something like that, into my face.”

You spoke up, staring out the window as barely discernible trees passed you by. “You were completely incinerated. Gasoline can’t do that.”

After a few moments of still, contemplative silence, Myrtle’s thick red mane shifted into your periphery. “Are you implying, (Y/N), that the powder used was of magical origin?”

“Yes.”

Zoe’s voice sounded from behind you. “I’ve never heard of… I mean, there’s gunpowder, but the amount you'd need to incinerate a body would be enough to cause an explosion.”

You turned to look at your Supreme, and it seemed the both of you were coming to the same realization, though she was the one to verbalize. “The Coven’s relationship with the Voodoo Queen has been strained lately - Dinah Stevens believes we were involved with Marie Laveau’s death.” She explained to Coco; as the newest member of the Council, she was the least knowledgeable about Coven politics.

You felt your heart swell with joy, having to fight off the smile that was desperate to spread across your face. “So Miriam could’ve been her mole.”

“Possibly. But we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions.” Cordelia advised, though you were beyond the point of doubt.

The Voodoo Queen was trying to eliminate your two Covens. A woman who had worked at the Academy for over two years had betrayed the trust of every single one of you. And yet, you couldn’t have been happier - Michael was innocent!

____

With a flick of her wrist, Madison had Miriam paralyzed and pinned against her car door, caught mid-flee. Myrtle was excessively calm as she sauntered into the house, coming out a minute later with one of the Coven’s security guards, instructing him to haul the stout woman down to the basement.

The interrogation that followed dragged on and on, running in circles. At the thirty minute mark, you mumbled an excuse about needing a shower and promptly left the room before anyone could object.

As you flopped down onto your soft duvet, you let out a carefree laugh; all of your worries had been for nothing. You closed your eyes and revelled in the moment, letting out a few more huffs of laughter, almost mocking your previous state of concern.

Deciding that you could actually benefit from a shower after your sweaty, dusty trip to the middle of nowhere, you rolled over. Your arm knocked against the nightstand and you opened your eyes as something clattered to the floor.

“Fuck.” was the first word that came to mind as you poked your neck over the side of the bed, staring down at a beautiful silver pendant. The pendant which belonged to John Henry. The pendant which you’d used to determine what happened to him.

You jumped up, accidentally thrusting your hipbone into the sharp corner of the bedside table. You instinctively hissed at the pain, though it soon became barely noticeable as your adrenaline kicked in, your feet rushing you out the door and towards the collection of temporarily-assigned warlock’s rooms.

The handle to Michael’s bedroom was within reach when a nearby voice nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“He’s not here.” You recognized it as John Henry’s, emanating from his room, the door to which he’d left ajar.

You hesitantly pushed the door inwards, eyes settling on the man who’d once threatened to unravel your life. He looked like he’d been to hell and back; you wondered whether that was literal or figurative in his case - you didn’t know him well enough to make an educated guess. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his thighs and his head in his hands.

Having no idea what else to say, you asked a question to which you already knew the answer. “Do you know where he went?”

John Henry shook his head as he looked up, dragging his hand over his face in what seemed to be an effort to liven himself up. “Of course not.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes growing sharp in a faux-threatening manner. “Do you?”

It was obvious from his tone of voice that he didn’t truly suspect you of being affiliated with whatever it was Michael was up to, or with his death; after all, you’d been a key factor in bringing him back to life, as had been explained to him during the car ride.

“No.” you responded, deciding to close the door. “Why were you were suspicious of him?”

He scoffed, slowly getting up to grab an expensive-looking bottle of rye off his desk, taking a swig directly from the bottle before sarcastically asking, “Was I wrong to be?”

You closed your eyes, this rhetorical banter reminding you oh-so-annoyingly of Michael. “No, you weren’t. Now can you please just answer the question?”

John Henry sauntered over to you and thrust the bottle towards your chest, leaving you no choice but to hesitantly accept it. You held it for a moment before considering your circumstances and taking a drink, holding your hand over your mouth so as not to regurgitate the painfully sour drink. “He’s a cocky little bitch,” You couldn’t disagree. “His ego’s almost the size of Ariel’s.”

He paused, still adjusting to the realm of the living. You felt bad for wishing you could just shake him by his shoulders and tell him to snap out of it, that this was important. Finally he continued. “When we tested him to see if he could be the first level four, we asked him to find an object through scrying, an altered form of Divination. He didn’t just locate it, he reached through the mirror and pulled it out. When we asked him to make it snow; he nearly froze us to death.”

You gulped, the two of you exchanging somber glances. “Do they know you’re siblings?" He asked. 

Heat began to bloom up your neck and across your face. You wouldn’t lie to him, though you feared the consequences of telling the truth. “No.”

He just nodded, almost a gesture of understanding. He once again moved to his desk, and as he was turning on his computer, he waved behind his back for you to join him. When he’d queued up whatever video he intended on showing you, he looked directly into your eyes, piercing you with his tense gaze. “This is how Ariel found him.”

You barely had time to ponder the fact that your reunion with Michael may have happened by chance before he pressed play.

You processed the location - an interrogation room, large and sterile. “LA COUNTY” was stamped on the bottom of the screen. A boy - your brother - faced away from the camera. As he attempted to get up from his chair, a detective forced him back down by a rough shove to his back, asking, “Does that help with your memory?”

Your brother answered in tears. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Except stab him with five knives. You were the only one there, you sick little fuck.”

A lump formed in your throat. He spoke up again. “I didn’t touch those knives. You won’t find my fingerprints anywhere.”

The detective grabbed Michael, fragile as ever, and threw him to the floor. His face was out of frame as his abuser kick him in his stomach. You winced at the horrible sounds he was making.

Suddenly, the detective was thrown against the opposite wall, feet dangling above the ground as he was held up by Michael’s magic. Suddenly, he was on the ceiling. You gasped, gripping onto the back of John Henry’s chair as you watched the man’s arms bend backwards at the elbows and his shins break in half to form ninety-degree angles.

He collapsed onto the ground, but was yanked up by the same force, rasping out what sounded like gibberish before his head exploded. When the video ended you looked to the edge of the screen, seeing just a hint of Michael’s arm, covered in blood.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe, trying to keep quiet as tears began to flow down your cheeks. John Henry turned to you, and you forced your eyes to meet his.

He spoke slowly, almost sympathetically. “There is something wrong with your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Eight posted at long last! Finally got around to editing. So glad it's up now - PLEASE let me know what you think!!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An execution takes place as realizations occur. You experience an intense vision.

Miriam Mead was now tied to a metal fold-out chair with thick, coarse manila rope. “You dumb heretics - I’m gonna cook y’all up in my crockpot!”

By the time you’d made it back down to the basement, she had already confessed to conspiring with Michael and Dinah to kill John Henry - or so Mallory had whispered in your ear, not wishing to disturb the due diligence.

Your brother was the mastermind behind the murder of John Henry Moore.

He’d killed before, but those instances had been crimes of passion. In this case, he’d simply identified a potential threat and had him killed in cold blood, out of what he saw as sheer necessity.

He’d done it simply for power’s sake.

Though you’d suspected Michael’s involvement in the slaying, you had, if only for a moment, foolishly led yourself to believe those suspicions to have been unfounded and paranoid, experiencing an ecstatic sense of relief. Having them confirmed felt overwhelmingly, unprecedentedly awful. You didn’t want to rage and scream, that was not the nature of your pain. Rather, you ached, felt the sort of hurt that made you want to crawl under thick bedcovers, curl into a fetal position, close your eyes, fall asleep, and never wake up.

Cordelia cocked her head to the side, her eyes holding a glimmer of satisfaction. You couldn’t blame her for taking some pleasure in capturing the woman, who’d betrayed her trust on an epic scale. “‘Heretic’ - that’s an interesting word.”

Miriam had been habitually biting at her lips throughout the interrogation, her purple lipstick beginning to wear and reveal the natural pink underneath. You wondered if this was a nervous tick of hers - if so, she was doing an otherwise great job of concealing her anxiety. “So is ‘witch.’ You may be wizards, but you aren’t exactly wizzes.”

“How so?” Myrtle asked, taking a sip of the champagne she’d poured herself in a brash display of victory.

She raised her eyebrows, tone incredulous as she asked, “Don’t you feel a little dumb, not doing any background checks on your employees?”

“We’re running one right now.” Zoe said, voice impartial.

“‘Right now’ being the key term there.”

The Supreme took a step forward, the sway of her floor-length cape causing the floor’s dust to flutter about. “What exactly were you hoping to do here?”

Mead simply stared, an eerily gleeful smile spreading across her face. She knew that her silence allowed her some measure of power in this imperative situation.

Madison didn’t even make eye contact with the woman, instead choosing to examine her short, black-lacquered nails as she spoke offhandedly. “You might want to start talking - it would be in your best interest.”

“I am talking. I’m just not telling you what you want to know.” She pointed out.

“Then you might want to consider telling us what we want to know.” Madison hastily shot back, clearly vexed by her opponent’s provoking side-step. She sprung forward to stand at Cordelia’s side, her arms crossed in agitation. “Cut the shit Morticia, or we’ll go full Pyrokinesis on your ass.”

“The chosen shall be made white and be tried by fire, and the wicked shall deal wickedly! The fire will cleanse me!” She yelled fervently. Some of you visibly jumped at the sudden increase in volume, her voice so loud that it echoed throughout the expansive basement.

“The fire will cleanse you?” Cordelia asked as she raised her hand to telekinetically choke the woman, much to your surprise. She held the position for a few moments before releasing, hoping the small threat of physical violence would push her to a breaking point.

After a moment of quiet in which the only audible sound was Mead’s dry huffing, she spoke through grit teeth, continuing on in yet another riddle. “And a time shall come such as never was from the time that nations began.”

“What on God’s green earth is this madwoman saying?” Myrtle queried at the rest of you, refusing to address the woman directly out of disdain.

Even Cordelia was beyond words as you marvelled at the woman before you, genuinely wondering if she had lost her mind. “Who is like him? Who shall be able to fight with him?” She continued.

Everyone exchanged worried, perplexed glances before Cordelia found her perk again and subsequently decided to end this farce of an inquiry. “If you want to be cleansed by fire, Ms. Mead, be our guest.”

The execution took place the very next day.

Miriam Mead was flanked by two Coven bodyguards, the Council standing in a triangle formation behind her as she was escorted through the remote highway underpass to her death.

Your Supreme tilted her lacey black parasol to rest behind her shoulders, raising her voice to reach the woman in the process of being tied to a pyre. “Miriam Mead, for the murder of the warlock John Henry Moore and for conspiring to commit treason against this Coven, I, Cordelia Goode, on behalf of this Council, sentence you to death by fire.”

A silence followed as Mead stared at Cordelia disapprovingly, disgusted by her piety. You assumed that Cordelia would refrain from delivering a victorious parting look to her enemy, whom she’d essentially tortured into confessing.

Perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration. However, it had felt strange to see the Coven’s beloved Supreme physically intimidate this woman into submission, even if it was only with a weakened chokehold. Zoe, of all people, reassured you that this was only because, “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Any last words?” Cordelia asked the offender.

“There are those among you, not so innocent as they seem!” She said, eyes flickering over you for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat as your stomach dropped. You’d been naive enough to contemplate the possibility that she didn’t know about your relationship to Michael - of course she did. Of course she would make this proclamation right at the last moment, potentially jeopardizing your position within the Coven even more so than you’d already done yourself. You waited for all accusatory eyes to turn in your direction. Thankfully, they valued her dig as nothing more than a meaningless inflammatory remark.

“You think this death is a punishment? It’s a blessing! Fire will cleanse this world!” She said again, a mischievous grin spreading across her face, voice lilting upwards in delight. She sounded insane. “Accept the Son of Perdition, the Beast that ascends! His kingdom is nigh!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Cordelia smile in restrained satisfaction as she watched the live John Henry saunter down a concrete slope, a coal-black fedora shielding him from the southern sun. He made his way into Miriam’s line of sight, and she looked away, too proud to acknowledge the physical embodiment of her failure.

He gave her a mocking wave before taking the can of gasoline from the larger of the two bodyguards. He doused her in it, shaking the can to make sure she was completely drenched. He then stood back and lit a cigarette, flicked the match forward and set his murderer alight.

It wasn’t the sight of her burning that made you wince; it was her strong resistance towards exhibiting any reaction to the blistering heat which ate away at her flesh. At one point, before the flames had reached the height of their power, she even smiled at the Supreme - then at you, which caused your whole body to tense as you tried to minimize a violent shudder.

In your peripheral vision, you saw Zoe lean towards Coco. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

But how could one look away?

When Miriam Mead’s body was burnt to a crisp, you all turned to leave. The stench of roasted flesh didn’t make you want to vomit - it made you want to scream. No matter how much you wanted to focus solely on your hate for this woman, you couldn’t help but feel guilt; you’d just watched Michael’s… friend?…burn to death, and you hadn’t done a single thing to stop it.

You thought back to what John Henry had said, just before showing you Michael’s gruesome interrogation tape; “This is how Ariel found him.” The video alone had been what introduced Michael to the Hawthorne School. It almost felt worse to discover that your reunion was accidental, rather than purposeful, as you’d previously supposed. It meant that Michael had created a whole life for himself - a life that perhaps involved that madwoman - after you’d left. He’d forgotten about you. Though that was what you’d thought you wanted, he was all you’d ever had. It was horribly selfish, disgustingly entitled, yet it hurt to think that he was able to move on.

____

The firelit room was quiet at nearly two o’clock in the morning, and yet you’d all gradually made your ways downstairs, greeted by whomever had arrived before you. Given the day’s gruesome events, it seemed you Council members were all too unnerved to sleep. Retreating to your rooms alone had forced the dubious circumstances of the Coven to sink in. You supposed this was a sort of morbid special occasion, with Myrtle’s gloomy piano sonata serving as the anthem.

Everyone was worrying over Miriam’s sermonic cries, the implications of which you all understood but were too afraid to verbalize. As if they weren’t blatant enough on their own, you’d remembered what Cordelia had said the very first day of this calamitous adventure, the day of your reunion, detailing her vision of fire, destruction, death… a demon.

Apparently, your brother was something not of this world. You looked back on the entirety of the life you’d spent with him, your mind rushing through every vivid instance of cruelty or instability. If what you’d borne witness to wasn’t bad enough, you could only imagine what he’d done in those two years in which the two of you were separated. John Henry had been right in his assessment of your brother; there was something wrong with him, and it surpassed what any of you could’ve ever imagined.

“How about something less doleful, Myrtle?” Cordelia suggested in a taught, somber tone.

Myrtle simply continued, ignoring the Supreme’s request and devoting her focus to the nimble movements of her fingers. “Don’t be a hater, dear. It's Schubert's last sonata. It's all about acceptance of death.”

Coco sat up straight, her pitch higher than usual as she frantically asked, “You think we’re going to die?”

“No, sweet Coco. But we’ve just witnessed a death. Be it that of an enemy or no, such an occasion requires a moment of reflection - and please, I desperately beg of you, turn it down.”

Her face screwed up with anxiety. “I’m just scared! I mean, maybe we shouldn’t have killed her - maybe we should’ve just kept her locked up. Michael’ll probably be royally pissed when he finds out we fucking burned her alive!” Coco squealed, despite Myrtle’s plea.

Cordelia sat up and walked to the fireplace, officially deciding to turn this into yet another meeting - of which you were beginning to get more than tired of, given the emotional weight they always seemed to bear. “We'll be fine as long as we stay here, in this house.” She reassured. “I’ve put all of Robichaux’s under the protection of an aura shield. Every witch will be safe, but any human, demon, or other will find it impossible to step through our front door.”

Upon returning to your room, you were plagued by another draining vision.

***

Earlier, the two of you’d finally ventured into the one room in the house that, up until then, you’d purposefully avoided. It had once belonged to your sister, Violet, and before that, Michael’s father. The two of you’d certainly heard a lot about him, the information often coldly delivered from either the mischievous Hayden or the hostile Chad.

You and Michael sat on the edge of the abandoned bed, Michael having discovered what looked to be a latex mask, not dissimilar to the one you’d heard described - the one which had caused this house so much pain. Tate rushed into the room, eyes flickering over to you briefly, unknowingly expressing guilt. A split second passed before he spoke, practically hissing at Michael. “What are you doing?”

Your father followed him in, moving to stand between the two blonds. “He’s just exploring.”

“He’s fucked up! You stay away from my shit, you understand?” He hissed. What an oblivious hypocrite.

Michael’s voice was heartbreakingly soft, each word prolonged by his hesitance to speak. “I just wanna be like you, dad.”

You visibly cringed, not that anyone paid it any mind. The last thing you wanted - and you hoped, the last thing that Michael wanted, deep down - was for him to turn out like his father. The crime’s he’d committed stacked up with the worst of them, all equally horrific. In comparison to Tate, there was hope for Michael yet.

Tate exchanged a concerned glance with your father. “Who told you that?”

“Other spirits,” Michael said, briefly looking to you, “They whisper to us.”

“You didn’t spring from my nutsack, got it?!” Tate yelled at his son, lunging forward. Ben reached out to restrain him, though he didn’t make it in time; you had already forcefully shoved him away, your sisterly instincts having kicked in. No one - least of all that asshole - was going to hurt your brother. You watched him stumble, and out of the corner of your eye you saw your father’s look of astonishment.

Tate walked backwards towards the doorway, looking from you, to Ben, to Michael, saying one last thing before he fled from the room. “Not even I could create something as evil, as fucked up as you. Stay away from me.”

You almost wanted to laugh at his ridiculous claim until you saw your brother turn and flop down onto the bed, assume the fetal position and cover his face with his hands. You exchanged a look with your father, the two of you silently coming to the agreement that you should wait a moment, allow Michael to speak first.

After ten minutes passed, Ben left, half-believing your brother had fallen asleep. You lay down next to him. What concerned you most wasn’t that he was upset. He may have been a sensitive boy, but anyone hearing such a thing from their biological parent would be enough to make them withdraw. The only problem was that Michael didn’t withdraw, not usually; not ever. Had this unfortunate encounter transpired a few weeks ago, Michael would’ve breathlessly communicated his feelings in between sobs, making a distinctive effort to make sure you understood all of his layered emotions. Of course, he’d recently begun to change.

Your brother was never one to shy away from carnage, that was true. But it seemed he’d recently discovered that he could explore his gruesome interests nearly everyday within the walls of this house - whatever ghostly bodies he’d manage to cut up would heal themselves within minutes, providing him with a rotary supply of blank canvases.

There were both potential pros and potential cons to this. On one hand, if he could restrain himself to harming only ghosts, he could cease his attacks on living creatures altogether. On the other, given that he was becoming more and more expert in the art of destroying human bodies, there was a chance he could fall back into bad habits… with increased enthusiasm.

That night was when you began to realize he was starting down the less desirable of the two paths.

You stood in the basement, gasping as you realized you had come too close and stepped in the pool of blood.

Constance’s body lay sideways, folded in on itself as the top arm was positioned in an awkward slope towards the dusty concrete floor. The side of her neck was gouged. You could only be thankful that she hadn’t been fully eviscerated - less for you to clean up.

You turned to face him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Your twin’s voice was eerily calm as he spoke. “She always whined about how we took up her time - time she could’ve spent with her children.” You couldn’t deny that she would often say something of that sort when she drank, even in the presence of her precious Michael. “It’s Mother’s Day. ‘Thought I’d do her a favor.”

So that’s why Constance was here. She’d been a fool to step back on the property, though you supposed she wasn’t entirely to blame. Whenever you would drop by to pick up your weekly living allowances, she made it a point to exchange as few words as possible, if ever necessary. This meant she was unaware of Michael’s growing resentment towards her.

Your gaze drifted to the body, still processing the sight as you whispered, “Oh my god…”

Your unbalanced brother’s voice sounded before you. “I was expecting you'd be surprised. I was hoping you wouldn’t be.”

Gulping, you turned back to him, trying to find your voice. “Michael… we have to call the police.”

His eyes bore into yours, conveying a sense of urgency, trying to get you to apply his version of logic to the situation. “And where would that leave us? Hmm?”

You had lost yourself for a moment, his voice nearly fading from your mind as it focused in on the suffocating sheen of sweat clinging to your skin. However, you soon mustered enough fortitude to glare at him and his ridiculous rhetorical question. “Are you fucking kidding? What are we gonna do if we don’t?! We don’t have any money!”

He placed his hand on your shoulder in a gesture that was clearly meant to temper your distress, though not comfort. It was almost a reprimand, slight irritation evident in his voice as he responded. “We’ll have just as much money as we did before - retirement checks. We can just walk right over and pick them up.”

Silence followed, a weight resting so heavy on your chest that you felt as though you could collapse besides Constance’s body. “She was your grandmother… ” You didn't know why you felt the need to state the obvious - perhaps it was because you were afraid that if he were able to harm one family member, he’d be able to harm another.

“And she was a terrible one. A terrible mother, too, though maybe now she can make up for that mistake.”

The heat of the moment compelled you to pose an uncomfortable question. “Is this about Tate? Vivien?” Neither of you had seen your mother since moving into the house.

Michael’s jaw clenched, eyes giving you a hint of a warning. “The backyard’s secluded enough - we can bury her there, after dark.”

You scoffed bitterly. “We? Why don’t you clean up your own mess for once?”

“I need your help, (Y/N). I need my sister.” He said plainly, a hint of affection gracing his tone in what seemed a manipulative manner. A beat passed. You tried to slap him, though he grabbed your airborne arm and brought it down with a firm grip, holding it flat between your two bodies. After a brief, taught staring contest, he focused his gaze on the corpse. “I’ll get the shovel, you get the bleach.”

Later, you lay on your side, a thin sheet halfway up your thigh as the rickety old fan set beside your bed did its best to cool you off. The night was exceptionally hot.

You were exhausted after having to help dig a hole for Constance’s body. The dry California earth refused to give, your adrenaline was in full swing as you worried about neighbors somehow sneaking a peak at what it was you'd been doing, and it’d taken you nearly an hour to aggressively scrub the sweat, dirt and blood off of your body.

The only thing you wanted to do was sleep, yet your mind was plagued by grotesque images. You ran your hand over your worn pillowcase, your entire bed a mix of old linens left behind by previous owners.

Hearing the door open behind you, you guessed that your brother was having trouble sleeping as well. He often came into your room after having a nightmare - what constituted a nightmare for him, you couldn’t say, as he would always refuse to tell you. However, considering the blood and gore he happily indulged in during the waking hours, you weren’t too devastated not knowing the contents of those dreams.

You felt a warm gust of air rush over your skin as the sheet was lifted up and Michael laid down beside you. You wanted to tell him to fuck off, of course. He had now made you an accomplice in two murders; that of the priest, and that of his grandmother. You wondered if you would ever be able to deny him anything - anything of importance, at least. Frankly, you feared what would happen if you did.

You shivered violently. Michael noticed, of course, and moved to spoon your back. Closing your eyes in both emotional and physical discomfort, you tried to use the stifling temperature to your advantage. “Michael, it’s too hot-”

You lost all capability of speech, breath catching in your throat as your mouth remained open - you couldn’t move. Your brother had suddenly grabbed ahold of your hip and dragged himself firmly up your backside. He paused before doing it a second time, paused, a third time…

“Michael… I love you…” You didn’t know why you said this. Perhaps it was a plea for him to remember the true foundation of your relationship, no matter how complex it may be, no matter your past indiscretions. You were fucking siblings. “Please-”

He brought his hand up and over your mouth, shutting you up as well as using it as leverage, the crook of his elbow tightly encircling your upper arm. He proceeded to force his free arm under your torso and brought it to wrap around your waist, then threw one leg over yours and angled himself to rest his head in the crook of your neck. You had to throw your arm out in front of you to prevent from falling face-first into the mattress.

Past the short hemline of your sleepwear, you felt the rough cotton of his boxers chafing against your skin as he now aggressively ground into you, hard enough to where each upward thrust jolted you forward.

You tried and failed to focus solely on the feel of your body moving back and forth over the sheets as his quick pants caused condensation to form over your sweaty throat. He gave a strained, “Mmph”. You closed your eyes.

After a minute, Michael pulled back. You heard him shove his boxers down to let himself spring free, resuming his rapid assault on your back with increased fervor.

What was happening?

The worst part of it was that you could feel a small pressure building inside of you the whole time you were in his bruising grip, regardless of the lack of contact against your own sex. You suddenly heard how loud your own anxious breaths were.

Michael brought his hand to clamp onto your throat as he pressed his cheek into yours, pushing the side of your face deeper into the pillow as his blonde hair scratched at your skin. “Aah…” His breath fanned over your lips. You didn’t speak; what could you say?

You gasped as the hand that had been tightly curled around your waist suddenly shot down to grab onto your groin, shoving your lower half back so that it was flat against him.

“Fuck - fuck,” he ground out through clenched teeth, small specks of saliva peppering your face. “O-Ohhh...” He convulsed against you, losing himself in his own pleasure to the point where he didn’t care how tight his grip on your neck had become.

You felt warmth pooling against your backside, and after a few moments his hold on you relaxed as he slowed down, rubbing himself against you a few more times for good measure before he dragged his sweat-covered face back over yours and plopped his head down onto the pillow behind you.

Your ragged breaths burned. Michael smacked his lips a few times between tired pants, trying to ease his own dry throat. Less than a minute after he’d finished, he pulled his arm out from under you and moved to stand up, walking out of the room.

You looked at the base of the fan in front of you as you shakily brushed back the hair plastered to your neck. You knew you were in shock when you did nothing but absentmindedly wonder if you’d drawn the attention of any spirits; it was the middle of the night, and he’d been loud, towards the end.

You curled up into a ball and closed your eyes.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE let me know what you think!! And do feel free to let me know whether or not there are any mistakes that slipped through the cracks.
> 
> I will have more time off soon and thus more time to work on + post new chapters of the story.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner party is thrown. You are once again forced into a supernatural visit with Michael.

A week had passed since the execution, leaving the twisted vision of Miriam’s execution to fade into the back of everyone’s minds before the dinner thrown in the rising Supreme’s honor. Everyone wore their finest black-and-white attire, as was custom for more meaningful occasions, such as All Hallow’s Eve, the Winter Solstice, the emergence of a new Supreme, etc.

You sat between John Henry and Mallory, the latter heading one end of the long dining table at which you all dined. The three of you were silent while those around you celebrated, incapable of temporarily suspending your respective depressions.

Mallory was clearly not too keen on the prospect of becoming the next Supreme, as it was apparent to most that it was just as much a burden as it was an honor. John Henry had come back from the dead, inducing what you could only imagine to be the mother of all existential crises. You’d discovered that your missing brother - with whom you’d recently developed an even more fucked up version of your relationship than you’d had before - had never actually quit his habit of murdering people.

Myrtle stood from her seat at the opposite end of the table, her position by the Supreme’s side mirroring yours at that of her successor’s. She brought her dessert spoon to tap on the side of her champagne flute. “In what will go down as one of the greatest embarrassments in our Coven’s history, we mistakenly anointed a warlock - the detestable Michael Langdon - heir to the Supremacy.” She closed her eyes for a moment, putting on an exaggerated display of trauma at the memory. She recovered with a smile. “It is my exuberant delight to announce that our own Mallory has recently performed the feats of the Seven Wonders.”

There was a slow-building round of applause, everyone elated yet stunned at this sudden revelation. Myrtle was about to continue with a toast before Cordelia seemed to take note of the small yet clearly forced smile accompanying Mallory’s silence. “Are you alright?” She asked.

Mallory’s eyes rose from her place setting to meet Cordelia’s concerned gaze, her tone as timid as her visage. “This just feels so weird. I mean… I'm not exactly a natural leader.”

Myrtle sat down gracefully, the red sheen of her eccentric mesh gloves glimmering as they moved under the glow of the chandelier. “Neither was King George, but one rises to the occasion.”

The honey-blonde’s voice remained low. “I just don't want to rise if it means Miss Cordelia has to fall.”

“Don't ever be ashamed of who you are, Mallory. This is how it's always worked. ” Her eyes scanned over the rest of you with intent, making sure she had everyone’s utmost attention. “I have to be honest with all of you. I always felt there was something… dangerous about Michael, something dark, and I am now convinced that he is on a mission to destroy us.” She said, though most of you already assumed that John Henry wasn’t the only one of your kind he planned on killing. “I’m ashamed I didn’t act on instinct. However, Michael has already given us an advantage. He's brought all my girls back to me for the fight ahead.” She looked to Queenie and Madison, her smile faltering a bit as she unwittingly reminded herself of Misty, who’d been so traumatized by her hell that she’d retreated deep into the woods in search of muted comfort. A shiver ran down your spine as you briefly contemplated what she must have seen. “When my time does come, Mallory, I will be heartened to know that you will be the one to lead this Coven. So please... drink up.” People began to applaud the two witches, reveering both Cordelia’s bravery and Mallory’s potential.

John Henry decided to cut the fun short. “How can you just sit here casually sipping wine when Michael’s out there, probably planning to kill us all?” His eyes were wide in reproachful shock as they looked around the table. Though this blunt interruption was somewhat rude, you were reluctant to blame the traumatized man.

“Let's not forget who aided in his ascension.” Myrtle’s tone was calm, knowing the remark would be enough to put John Henry in his place.

He sighed. “You’re right, I’m guilty. But now that we know what he's capable of, we've got to stop him.”

“I'm not naive, John Henry.” Said Cordelia. “I know damn well the challenges we're facing - and we’ll do everything in our power to stop Michael.”

“But we don’t know the challenges we’re facing. At least, we’re pretending we don’t.” You said in a low, edged voice, surprising even yourself. “We all heard what Miriam said. You don’t exactly have to be a Bible thumper to know what she was talking about.”

The Son of Perdition, the Beast that ascends. You couldn’t stop thinking about everything you’d missed; particularly how Cordelia had once described her plight in retrieving Queenie from The Hotel Cortez. She said that her white magic was extinguished within the hotel walls because the structure was built upon a portal to hell. You’d all been so foolish; after Michael freed Queenie from her imprisonment, everyone was too overcome with delight at her miraculous return to question the peculiarity of Michael’s power.

You’d been the biggest fool of all, of course. You had known that your place of birth, where you and Michael had lived for just shy of a year, was a Hellmouth. You’d known that Michael’s powers began to flourish not too long after you’d moved in - and yet your mind, softened with sentimentality, refused to connect the pieces of the puzzle.

Everyone was staring as your eyes flickered between the Supreme and the spot on the table closest to her, hesitant to make direct eye contact after your interjection.

Cordelia gave a single nod, her eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. She seemed almost pleased by your contribution to the dialogue; you supposed you had been rather quiet lately, what with the insanity of your situation. “We can’t assume anything at the moment-”

“Especially not the words of that butternut.” Myrtle said in reference to Mead, bringing the olive of her martini to her bright red lips.

“-But that doesn’t mean we will underestimate him. There is a way to find out who - or what - he is. We will have an answer in a few days’ time. But tonight, we are celebrating.”

The Supreme raised her glass one final time, signaling for everyone to return to a state of relaxation. The conversations around you seemed to filter through as white noise, as you, John Henry, and Mallory remained in distress.

You looked down at the short length of black silk tied firmly round your wrist - the ribbon necktie from Michael’s school uniform, which you’d found strewn about his bedroom floor. It appeared he’d hurriedly changed clothing when he realized that the Council was off to find out who was responsible for John Henry’s death.

You’d tucked it in your pocket a few days ago when the lot of you had been sent to clear out his room. You didn’t know what would happen if anyone realized where your new accessory came from, yet you still wore it, as you sorely missed your brother. You missed him even more than you had when you’d left home - perhaps a part of you was just bitter that you’d had no choice in this separation.

You wanted to see him again. But he’d left, and you had to accept that, especially as it was now apparent that seeing him again would likely result in all kinds of terrors.

You resented him more than ever, now that he was self-sufficient. It felt like all those years you spent looking after him meant nothing, as he’d only grown during your absence. Now he acted as if he were superior to you.

Mallory placed her quick and nervous hand upon yours, seeking your attention as she asked, “What do you think she meant - Miriam, I mean? What do you think she was talking about?”

She knew exactly what Miriam meant - you could hear it in her voice. She was simply as desperate as you were to have someone either confirm or deny her frightful suspicions. You looked to her, then to John Henry. The two of you exchanged solemn glances before he coarsely asked, “What do you think?”

The rhetoric nature of the question was not the only reason she didn’t respond.

You and John Henry were of the first to leave the table, both retreating upstairs. He stopped you before you took the corner to your room. “We need to talk.”

You stared in mild confusion, wondering why he would want to speak to you; you’d assumed he still resented you for withholding information about Michael.

He nodded in the direction of his room, motioning for you to follow as he made his way down the hall. Entering behind him, you saw a packed black suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed, a small matching day bag atop it, toiletries sticking out through the unzipped top. “You're leaving?”

“Just for a couple of days.” He said, placing one hand on the raised handle of the suitcase as he looked around the room, scanning for any items he may have forgotten to pack. He reached into his closet. 

Your mouth hung open, brows furrowed in stunned silence. “You-You can’t!” You finally stuttered, incredulous.

“I need answers - now.” He appeared to wrestle with the idea of completing his explanation. “Hawthorne isn’t answering our calls.”

You were surprised he seemed to think that that wasn’t already common knowledge throughout the school. “Yeah, I know. Myrtle thinks Ariel’s conspiring with Michael.”

“I can’t believe that. Not until I get evidence.” He turned back around to face you, hat, coat, and gloves all in hand. 

“That evidence will kill you.”

He pulled on his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists around the black leather in turn. “Cordelia said she saw the demon with the white face. Guess what? I saw it too, the night I died… saw it coming out of your brother’s face.” Your body went cold. “I think you should come with me.”

“I’m not coming with you, because you’re not going anywhere.” You made sure to patronizingly enunciate your words. “You’ll die if you leave.”

“I’ll die if I stay. And you probably will too.” He shrugged on his black coat.

“What about everyone else - what about the other warlocks?”

“We’re the only ones who’ve seen enough to know that if Michael wants in, he’ll find a way in.” He haphazardly threw his hand in the direction of the bedroom door, referring to the rest of the household. “None of them’ll listen to me.”

While that was most likely true, you couldn’t bring yourself to abandon the relative safety of Robichaux’s walls in favor of the outside, which was now, in the magical world, completely lawless. “We’ll be fucked the moment we step past the gates.”

“Unless Michael’s out there guarding the building himself, we’ll at least make it to the car.” He placed his keys in his pocket.

“Only to get flipped over in the middle of the highway.”

He scoffed, eyes wide. It seemed you were both equally dumbfounded by one another’s mindsets. “You’re really dead set on just sitting here, waiting to die.”

“I don’t know if we’ll die in here. I know we’ll die out there.” You spoke evenly, this being your final effort to convince him to stay.

“You might not.” He said plainly, shrugging his shoulders in a halfhearted expression of hope.

“What?”

He shrugged again. “You’re his sister. Couldn’t he spare you the death sentence?”

You scoffed shakily, nerves spiking as you realized you didn’t have a truly definitive answer to that question. “I wish I knew.”

There was an awkward moment of near-silence in which you both just stood there, the only sound being that of him clenching and unclenching the handle of his suitcase. You eventually plunked down on his bed, elbows atop your knees as your forehead rested against your palms.

“What happened?” He asked in a sympathetically hesitant manner.

Though his curiosity seemed genuine, you couldn’t believe there was anyone out there who wouldn’t find you completely disgusting if they knew the whole truth, and it wouldn’t be fair to Michael to pick and choose which parts of the story to expose. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do, actually.”

You remained silent.

He finally placed his hat atop his head. “You don’t have to come with me, but I’m leaving. Tonight.”

____

The basement was the same as you’d all left it; musty and barren, the cold metal chair to which Miriam had been bound during her interrogation still sitting in the center, ropes still hanging from its frame.

Perhaps you’d been too stressed during that whole affair to realize the similarities between this basement and that of the Murder House; though you supposed most basements were dreary grey cement holes. The only notable difference was that this basement was one large rectangular block, whereas the one belonging to your former home was labyrinth-like, filled with twists and turns and individual rooms, serving to make the house even creepier than it already was.

You grew faint. Feeling as if your weight had doubled, you collapsed onto the floor, blood pulsing to your damaged knees. You lay down to compose yourself, taking deep and measured breaths, unwittingly closing your eyes. Upon opening them, you found yourself in that damned black room. The heat emanating from the center’s fire pit was overwhelming, your rising anxiety already causing your body temperature to skyrocket.

You arose from behind the fire to see Michael standing tall, trying hard to keep his face expressionless, though his clenched jaw gave away his emotion. Stifling silence dragged on before he finally spoke through stiffened lips. “Did she scream?”

There were plenty of times throughout your life wherein he’d asked you awkward questions, whether mockingly or out of sheer obliviousness - never before had he asked you such a difficult question.

Now was a time you were particularly grateful that the limitations of these astral visits prohibited physical contact; you’d never been beaten before, much less by your brother, and that was a milestone you’d gladly go your whole life without reaching. “Michael, I didn’t k-kill her, I just-”

His face wasn’t the only part of his body that was tense. Observing him in detail, it almost seemed as if he wasn’t breathing. His tone remained relatively calm, yet his fraudulent demeanor hinted at the minefield of emotion buried underneath. “Yes, you did. You told them what she did, and then you let them burn her alive.”

“If she hadn’t fucking killed John Henry,” You spat, “She wouldn’t have been burned.” The fate that befell Miriam was the consequence of her own crime, which Michael had conspired with her to commit, making him much further at fault than you were. As much as you wanted to point this out, you feared what would happen if you implied that he was in some way responsible for her death.

He seemed unaffected by your reprimand, too caught up in his own obscured suffering. “I’m all alone, thanks to you.”

You exhaled sharply, as stupefied by this claim as you were wounded. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I can help, if you’ll let me - you don’t have to do any of this.”

Other cracks in his facade appeared as he raised his voice, eyes growing wide with contemptuous rage. “I don’t want your fucking help. I don’t need it.”

After roughly two decades of servitude, as well as mild abuse - at both Constance’s hands and Michael’s - he was now acting as if a woman he’d known for no more than two years was notably dearer to him than you were. Through his immense grief, he was showing his respect for her. He hadn’t shown you respect a day in your life.

It was like a dam broke, and all of your pent-up anger suddenly flowed free. It could’ve been mind-numbingly cathartic, if not for the frightening circumstances under which this conversation was taking place. “Are you fucking serious? Do you have amnesia? You needed my help for years because you were too goddamn stupid to do anything by yourself!”

He averted his gaze, narrowed his eyes and shook his head, purposefully disregarding your clearly valid criticism in order to continue his whining. “You weren’t helping me. You were trying to suppress my true nature.”

A few beats passed in which you tried to ignore the seemingly inescapable subject he’d just introduced. You failed. “What’s your true nature?” You asked fearfully, tearfully.

He refused to answer, so you carried on. “I didn’t even know what, or who, you were. I just didn’t want you to ruin your life, end up in fucking prison - which you probably would’ve if the warlocks hadn’t shown up.”

“No prison on earth would be able to hold me. And no spell on earth will keep me out of your school.”

“Cordelia’s stronger than you think. You won’t get any further than the gates.”

Michael cocked his head to the side. “You really believe that?”

You shivered. The confidence you were trying to maintain was beginning to falter, your voice rising barely above a whisper as you spoke. “This isn’t you Michael. You’re not... none of this makes any sense.”

He speedily strode over to you. You took a step backwards, not wanting to be anywhere near him in his current state, even if he couldn’t put his hands on you. You halted your movements, however, when you realized that, depending on how determined he was to yell directly in your face, the two of you could simply end up running in circles around the room.

His face was inches from yours as he practically growled at you. “I’m going to kill every last one of you.”

Your lower lip wobbled. You’d been pretty certain of what he must’ve been planning to do to most residents of Robichaux’s. Again, though, you hadn’t been sure whether or not your name was scribbled on his hit list; you were his sister, as John Henry had said. It seemed as though that didn’t matter anymore. Suspicion confirmed.

Your vision became blurry due to a buildup of tears, and, to your shame, you were unable to prevent them from spilling over. When you tried to blink the moisture away, you opened your eyes to find yourself back on the floor of the basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for long wait! Next chapter will be up soon, as I now have a more relaxed schedule.
> 
> PLEASE let me know what you think in the comments!! Thank you so so much for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> I would say that first chapters are not my strong suit, so if you sort of like it, I do think it gets better :)
> 
> Also, though I do proofread, I always seem to miss something - so let me know if you noticed any mistakes.


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